


1.7 Trans Pacifica

by William_Easley



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Humor, body exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 16:24:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10416249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/William_Easley/pseuds/William_Easley
Summary: When Pacifica Northwest is bored by her own life, she wonders what it would be like to be Mabel. And Mabel knows a way for her to find out. Set in July 2013.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the show Gravity Falls or these characters. I make no money from writing these fanfic stories. I write for my own enjoyment and, I hope, to please fans of the show.

**Trans Pacifica**

**By William Easley**

**(July 2013)**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"So why can't I just pay somebody to win these games for me?" Pacifica Northwest pouted, jigging the joystick and frowning at the console screen.

"Ha!" Mabel glanced sideways from her game controller. "Good one, Pacifica! Oh, wait, you weren't joking, were you?"

"Should I say, like 'Smiley Face!' before I make a joke so you can tell?"

"Yeah. That would help."

"NO Smiley Face," Pacifica replied as her game made the discouraging you-lost sound of _deedle-dum-dee-dum-dum._ "Seriously, this is so boring!"

"Well, don't play 'Petty Larceny Auto,'" Mabel suggested. "This one's better. It's called 'Shoe-ray!' In it you shop for shoes!"

"But I have people to do that _for_ me," Pacifica complained, standing behind Mabel to watch. "Let's do something else. It smells like Axe body spray and feet in here."

On a weekday afternoon in July, the arcade wasn't nearly full, but even with only a dozen kids at the consoles the racket filled the air: dings and bleeps, buzzes and the skid of tires, machine-gun fire and the chuckles of friendly little elves, depending on what was being played.

"Just a second, just a second," Mabel said, her tongue lodged in the corner of her mouth. "Gotta get to the counter first . . . come on, come on, run up the down escalator . . . . YES! Sales table! Fight my way through these screaming middle-aged women—Ha! Those ballet flats are MINE, sucka! New high score! New high score!"

She manipulated the joystick to enter her initials as Pacifica tapped her foot impatiently. "MAP? So what's your middle name?"

"The A's not my middle name, silly," Mabel said with a giggle. "It stands for AWESOME!" She turned away from the game and leaned on the console, fanning her face with both hands. "Whew! That was intense! You wanna try this one?"

"No, thank you," Pacifica said. "I just don't see the attraction."

Mabel shrugged. "OK. People like different things. Next let's do something you like to do. What's that?"

"Well—ride my pony. Dance with a hot boy. Umm . . . read the financial section of the newspaper . . . ."

"Whaaat? You don't like to do any kid-type stuff? You ought to do some retroactive silly things, Pacifica. We're _thirteen_. We won't be able to get away with kid stuff for much longer. Do it before it's too late! Do it! Do it! Do it!"

Pacifica interrupted her chant: "Sheesh, calm down! Let's go have a soda or something."

"OK!"

"But not a Pitt's!"

"Oh, man! You really have a limited definition of _fun,_ Pacifica!"

"Well—if you had my family, you'd understand."

A few minutes later they sat in the soda shop, sipping on their drinks—a CoCoNutz Fizz for Mabel and a chocolate frappe for Pacifica. "Having a good summer?" Mabel asked between gulps.

Pacifica shrugged. "So-so. I actually like our new house out in the country. Dad's not leaning on me so hard now—he's trying to rebuild his fortune, and he's always busy at the office. Mom's Mom. If I'm not bleeding from my ears and nose, she assumes I'm happy." She sighed. "I miss my other ponies. I mean, Desperado is the best one of the bunch, and I got to keep him, but we had to sell the others . . . and then I guess I found out that some of my friends liked my money better than they liked me. Dad sold the big boat, so now when we go to the lake, we just swim, and suddenly Brittany and the other girls are always too busy to go with me."

"I'll go to the beach with you some time," Mabel said. "And so would Dipper, I bet. And maybe Grenda and Candy . . . but they're a little scared of you.

" Pacifica gave her a sharp look. " _Scared_ of me? What 's that supposed to _mean_?"

"Well, you remember last summer? You know, you won the dance-off and the party crown? And you kinda . . . well, kinda made fun of them."

Pacifica sighed. "Yes, I guess I did. Before all that crazy ghost stuff happened, it was hard for me to think of other people as being people, really."

"Yeah," Mabel said. "Poor Sergei."

"Oh, _he's_ okay," Pacifica said. "He escaped from the miniature golf course eventually. Bill Cipher captured him during the never-mind-about-all-that, but he was freed with the others. I think he's gone to New York. He wants to be a dancer in a Broadway show for some weird reason."

"Well, you intimidated Grenda and Candy."

"Tell them I'm sorry, OK? I'm ruining your day too, now, aren't I? I'd probably better go home."

"What? The day is young! Hey, speaking of Sergei, how about a round of miniature golf, no cheating this time?"

"No, thank you!" With a shiver, Pacifica said, "Those little golf-ball people weird me out! And Dad's lawyer said I couldn't even sue them, 'cause they're not human."

"Yeah, I had the same problem with Gnomes," Mabel said. "Attempted kidnapping, but I let it blow over. Grunkle Stan doubted that any lawyer would touch the case, and even if we won, he said, Gnomes don't have any money to pay damages. And I actually sort of like them now. I mean, I wouldn't want to _marry_ a bunch of them, but they're really OK down deep."

"You are a strange girl," Pacifica said.

"Thank you!"

They both laughed.

"Sometimes I wish I could trade places with you," Pacifica admitted with a shake of her head. "I mean, get to stay at the Mystery Shack, no rules, people who'd really pay attention to me at home, all that junk. Your great-uncle was really kind to me when we all had to shelter there from Bill Cipher and all his craziness. Plus, I'd like the chance to hang around with Dipper and all. I shouldn't tell you this, but I kind of had a crush on him for a little while there. It's so strange! I don't understand it myself. He's _not_ the kind of boy I'm attracted to at all—not tall, not really good-looking, not a smooth dancer, and he dresses—well, you know."

"Preachin' to the choir, sister," Mabel said. "I don't know how many cool sweaters I've knitted for him. Dozens. I think he wore two of them, one time each. And he still wears the same clothes for too many days at a time." She sipped the last of her soda and then asked, "So—you're not interested in him any longer?"

Unhappily, Pacifica shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Not _romantically_ , I guess, but I'm kind of wondering about him. He can be so sweet sometimes. And brave. And he's kind of a dork, but smart."

"Yep, you got him pegged. I mean, I love him like a brother, but he's such a nerd sometimes. Not like me. Just between you and me, I can sometimes get a little silly," Mabel said, jamming two soda straws up her nose.

Pacifica stared at her. "No!" "It's true!"

Mabel pinched her nose and was able to produce a sustained C note through the straws. "Ouchie!" She took them out, a couple of tears leaking from her eyes. "Worth it! Anyway, Dipper is hardly ever silly. Too serious, most of the time, that's his trouble. So, you know, together we balance out. He gives me a dose of reality when I need it, and I drive him nuts when he needs it." She rubbed her nose. "That's gonna sting for a while," she said. "I've never in my life ridden a pony. Is it fun?"

"I _love_ it. Desperado is the best of all the ones I've ever had. He really enjoys running all-out, and it's very exciting to be in the saddle."

"Hmm. Y'know, I really do love animals. Just askin', Pacifica, but would you really like to trade places with me? Like for just one day?"

"Oh, sure, like _that_ could happen," Pacifica said, smiling. "Well," Mabel said with a wicked grin, "there is this carpet . . . . "

When they got to the Shack, Wendy told them that Dipper was off in the woods somewhere, trying to track down the elusive and fabled Venus' Woodpecker Trap, a carnivorous plant that grew to huge size and lived on attracting, ingesting, and absorbing woodpeckers. If he couldn't find one, he was going to look for monkeys or some deal.

They found Soos making new labels for some of the exhibits. As usual, he greeted them cheerfully: "'Sup, dawgs?"

Mabel said, "Soos, I'm real worried about Dipper. I think he's planning some strange experiment with that body-switching carpet, remember? The one that put you into Waddles's body for a while."

"Whoosh, dude, how could I forget! Even though parts of it were a lot of fun. Not the part where Old Man McGucket wanted to turn me into bacon, though. That made me scared and hungry. Sorta conflicted, I guess you could say. So why's Dipper wantin' to fool with that thing?"

"Who knows?" Mabel asked. "But you won't let him get it, will you?"

"No way, José!" Soos shrugged. "But don't worry about it, Hambone. It's like hidden where he can never find it."

"I don't know," Mabel said. "Dipper's pretty good at finding things."

"Yeah, but Stan rolled it up and stuck it in the attic storage closet," Soos said. "That thing is like triple-locked."

"And the keys are hidden well?" Mabel asked.

"Oh, sure! I like taped 'em to the bottom of the cash-register drawer. Nobody'll ever find 'em there."

"Good work, Soos! High five!"

Pacifica said, "Uh, yeah, you're like some kind of savant genius, uh, Soos."

"It's a blessing and a curse," Soos said solemnly. "Hey, Pacifica, high five? Don't leave me hangin'."

Gritting her teeth, Pacifica gave him a hand slap.

Back in the gift shop, Mabel asked Wendy, "Slow, isn't it? Gettin' bored there? Hey, I'll watch the register for you if you'd like to take a break."

Wendy, never one to turn down such an offer, gave her a thumbs up. "Thanks, Mabes! I would like to stretch my legs and get a snack. Be back in a couple hours!"

Then it was quick work to hit the "No Sale" tab, pop out the drawer, and peel off the tape. The real problem was finding time to do the rest of it. Sporadic tourists came wandering into the museum and the gift shop. Melody came through making a list of things to restock. Abuelita came in and vacuumed and talked to them about her telenovelas and the new women's club she and Gideon Gleeful's mother had recently formed. Its badge was a brass vacuum cleaner. And Soos led groups of tourists in from the museum and pitched the merch, as he'd learn to call it from Grunkle Stan.

Pacifica and Mabel rang up the sales and explained to Soos that they were just covering for Wendy for a few minutes. Finally, though, the afternoon lull came, Wendy returned and thanked them by giving them a bag of Mabel's favorite candies, and they were able to duck into the hallway and up the stairs to the second floor, then to the attic. Properly speaking, the storage closet opened in the wall to the left just at the top of the stair; the attic room that Mabel and Dipper had shared was a few steps across the landing.

Mabel quickly unlocked all three locks, including a padlock. They opened the door and saw the rolled-up carpet propped inside against the wall. A lot of other junk cluttered the closet—it was long, running back for ten or twelve feet, but the ceiling was sharply slanted (it was just the underside of the roof) and the closet was only about six feet wide.

"Okay, let's do it," Pacifica said. They hauled out the carpet, unrolled it on the landing, and she asked, "Now what do we do?"

Mabel explained, "Just shuffle our feet on it, then touch each other. It hits you like a static-electricity shock."

"Ew!"

"C'mon. It doesn't hurt. Much." They shuffled around in a circle. "Now," Mabel said. "High five!"

Slap. CRACK!

Mabel sat up, looking stunned. Or Mabel's body did. Pacifica's body asked, "So how'd it go, Pacifica?"

"Oh. My. God." She held up her hands, then pulled out the sweater and stared down at the appliqué of a pink pig. "I'm you!"

"Let's get this thing rolled up and stashed away before somebody finds us," Mabel said.

Pacifica wailed, "Be careful! Don't get dust on my clothes!"

The two girls rolled the carpet back up, tied it with twine, and stuffed it back into the closet. "I'm gonna close the door and hang the padlock again, but I won't lock it," Mabel said. "Look, if I boost you up, can you unscrew that one light bulb? Dipper'll think it burned out, and he's way too lazy to replace it. That'll keep him from noticing the padlock's not really closed."

"Let me boost you," she said. "I think this body's stronger than mine is."

But that was no good—they couldn't reach the bulb. Mabel went into the attic bedroom and came back with a tall wooden chair. "Hold this steady," she said, and she climbed onto the chair bottom, then up the ladder-rungs of the back, until she could reach up and unscrew the bulb. "Ow! Hot, hot, hot!"

"Don't burn my fingers!"

"Got it." Darkness fell—not complete because of the light from downstairs and from the triangular attic window, but losing the light made the attic landing gloomy. Mabel clambered down and replaced the chair.

As the two girls headed downstairs, Dipper came hustling in and started up, two steps at a time. He stopped when he noticed them. "Uh—hi, Pacifica."

"Hello, Sir Dippingsauce!"

He blinked. "Sir—Mabel, don't tell Pacifica about all the silly names you call me!"

Mabel blinked at him. "Oh, forgive me, brother. I won't make that mistake again."

Dipper shook his head. "You are freaking me out, Sis."

Pacifica said, "Dipper, we were just looking for you. We wanted to see if you might wanta do something. Maybe play a round of mini-golf on the course we made?"

"Not right now," Dipper said. "I'm at a dead end on the woodpecker tree, so I'm thinking of looking for Oregon spider monkeys, and I want to make some notes in my Journal."

Pacifica shrugged. "Cool beans. Mind if we get the golf clubs and balls? They're under your bed."

"Huh, no, you—wait, how did you know where they are?"

Mabel said, "Don't get mad at Pacifica, brother dear. I told her."

Dipper closed his eyes. "Fine. Whatever. Go get the clubs and the golf balls and clubs. And please, Mabel—don't give me any more of this weirdness."

Mabel started to speak, but Pacifica nudged her, and they got the clubs and the balls and went out as Dipper settled down with his Journal.

Wendy was away from the counter, and nobody was in the gift shop, so Mabel—in Pacifica's body—quickly replaced the keys. The girls played nine holes of mini-golf, but they were so excited that they paid no attention to keeping score. They exchanged vital information—Pacifica gave Mabel the code for unlocking her phone (1MFABuLOU$), and Mabel made Pacifica practice calling Dipper "Brobro" and told her about Dipper's ticklish spots in case of emergency.

While this was going on, Waddles meandered over and Mabel insisted that Pacifica had to pet him and showed her how to scratch his ears the way he liked. Waddles didn't seem to notice any difference, which they took as a good sign.

As they golfed, the girls took turns instructing each other on how to behave. In Mabel's body, Pacifica said, "Oh, please. I think I can fool Dipper!"

"But remember," Mabel told her, "you're sleeping in the guest room, past the stairway on the first floor, then second door on the left, now. I stopped sharing the attic room with Dipper last month."

"Why?"

Mabel gave her a mischievous grin. "I think you'll find out tomorrow!"

* * *

**Chapter 2**

_I could get used to this_ , thought Mabel—or Mabel in Pacifica's body—I mean, it was Mabel's mind, but—oh, forget it. Look this is hard enough, right? So from now on, whenever there's a person whose mind is in a different body, expect to see this: (Mabel) is Mabel-as-Pacifica; (Pacifica) is Pacifica in Mabel's body. And, I don't know, (Soos) might be Soos in Waddles's body again, except Melody would probably kill him. Anyhow . . . .

(Mabel) had the thought as the Northwest butler—Pacifica had told her his name was Wellington—chauffeured her in the family limo. "You are rather late, Miss Pacifica," he said. "Your father is already home."

(Mabel) said, "Oh, thanks, Mr. Wellington. I'll be glad to see him."

Wellington glanced into the rear-view mirror, but his eyes were always so squinty that (Mabel) wasn't sure he was taking a peek at her. "Please, Miss Pacifica, it's just 'Wellington.' Do not prefix it with 'Mr.' I must remember my place. And, if you will permit the observation, Miss, I am not sure you will be glad to see Mr. Northwest. He is rather put out with you at the moment."

"Huh? Why?"

"Well, Miss, you have been, ah, I believe my grandmother would have said 'gallivanting' quite a bit."

"Galla-who?"

"Going about and enjoying yourself," the butler said. "Hobnobbing with your acquaintances, such as Miss Mabel."

"Look, Welly, let's get this straight: Mabel Pines is super! She's my bestest BFF."

The eyebrows rose, though the eyes did not open. "Indeed, Miss? Then you don't mind defying your father's wishes by seeing her?"

"Heck, no!" Very quietly, with the ghost of a smile, Wellington said, "Bully for you, Miss!" He chuckled and almost whispered, "'Welly.' I must say I quite like that."

When they arrived at the Northwest farmhouse—this was the first time (Mabel) had actually seen it—Wellington held the door for her and then hurried to open the front door. "Chin up, Miss Pacifica," he murmured. "Remember, Mr. Northwest is your father and deserves respect, but—" he leaned close—"Never knuckle under!"

"Got it, Welly. You're sweet." The old man actually blushed. (Mabel) had stepped into a long hall.

From Pacifica's description, she knew that the living room was to her left, the _formal_ living room to her right; beyond that were the library (left), music room and a small office (right), formal dining room (end of the hall) from which the kitchen, pantry, and wine room opened. Halfway to the dining room, a stairway led up to the second floor, where Pacifica's bedroom was. As she closed the door, (Mabel) heard Preston Northwest's peeved voice coming from the office: "Pacifica Elise Northwest! Is that you?"

"Yup," she called back cheerfully.

Mr. Northwest appeared in the office doorway, scowling at her. "Pacifica, you know the rules! You have one hour a day scheduled for free play time. You have missed your music lesson, your French lesson, your etiquette lesson—and for what?"

"For fun, dads!" she said, grinning.

"For fun! For FUN? For—wait, what did you call me, young lady?"

(Mabel) had a fit of giggles. "Dads! I wouldn't call you 'young lady.' That would be creepy! Uh—unless you have a secret to tell me, maybe?"

"You will address me as 'Father' or as 'Sir!'" Northwest said, his face turning purple. "Now, young lady, you are confined to your room until dinner time. Go there and spend the next three hours thinking about what you have done!"

"Okay—but, dads—I mean Father? Why are you so upset all the time?"

He glared at her. "That is my business!"

"Mud flaps?" Northwest looked as if his head were about to explode. "Yes! No! I mean—young lady, go to your room!"

"Dear, what's wrong?" (Mabel) looked at the stairway. Pacifica's mother, Priscilla Northwest, was coming down the stair. She was dressed informally—a loose yellow silk top, tan slacks, white flats—but groomed impeccably, as always, with a fixed smile on her face (“One too many face lifts,” Pacifica had confided).

Preston Northwest stepped into the hall. "Priscilla, it's your daughter! Her behavior has absolutely gone to hell since we lost our money. You try to talk some sense into her! I give up!" He spun and stalked back into the office, slamming the door behind him.

"Oh, dear," Priscilla sighed. "Pacifica, what have you done?"

(Mabel) said, "Mom, I just went over to visit Mabel Pines and we hung out and played some mini-golf and had a good time. And da—Father is upset because I missed my dumb old lessons. It's summer, Mom! School is supposed to be out!"

"Come up to my dressing room, dear," Priscilla said. (Mabel) followed her. The room surprised her: two big windows, lots of light, a dressing table with an enormous mirror, Hollywood-style lights around it—two lines of them, one daylight, one artificial—a whole chest full of makeup, a compact loveseat upholstered in fabric with a butterfly print, and a matching armchair. Priscilla Northwest settled into the armchair and patted the loveseat. (Mabel) sat there.

"Come, darling," Mrs. Northwest said in a faintly scolding tone. "Posture!"

_Oh, yeah_. (Mabel) shifted from her usual casual sprawl into an upright position on the loveseat, back straight, chin lifted, legs crossed at the ankles. "Better?"

"So much better, darling." Priscilla smiled. "Pacifica, you know your father is working hard to re-build the family fortune. We're worth only about a third of what we were a year ago. He feels the humiliation. He's a man, and men are competitive."

(Mabel) said, "Well, he wants me to be competitive, too! He practically ordered me not to come home last year if I lost that stupid golf match."

"It's a Northwest trait," Pacifica's mother said.

"Yeah, well, so are lying and cheating and treating people like dirt!"

"Pacifica!"

"You know it's true!" (Mabel) took a deep breath and forced herself to sound calmer: "Mom, why is Dad so tense? I mean, I know he's working hard, but we have enough money, don't we?"

"I think we do," Mrs. Northwest admitted. "But he doesn't. He'll drive himself to an ulcer or a heart attack. The problem, you see, dear, is that sales of mud flaps are level. There's only so much to be made. We have enough money to maintain our present scale of living, but Preston wants to live in a mansion again, with lots of servants, not just three. He wants to be the leading millionaire in the state again, not number 204. So he's really working himself to death to find new ways of promoting his product. It isn't easy."

(Mabel) nodded solemnly. "Mom, how about me helping him?"

"How?" Mrs. Northwest asked with an indulgent smile.

"I want to think about it. Could I get some art supplies? Sketch pads, pencils, gum erasers, a set of color markers with yummy fruit scents?"

"Dear, we have all those in your art room."

"Oh, right!" (Mabel) struck herself on the forehead with the heel of her hand. "Doy! I forgot for a moment." _Art room, art room . . . ._ "Uh, Mom? Remind me where the art room is."

"Are you all right?"

"I hit myself pretty hard there!" (Mabel) chortled, but cut herself off when she saw how Pacifica's mother was staring at her.

"I—I'd just like your company," (Mabel) added contritely. "Mom, we don't spend enough time together."

"Oh, come along, dear."

The art room was just across the hall from Pacifica's bedroom. Though it was full of light, (Mabel) gathered up the materials and decided to take them to the bedroom. She always did her best sketching stretched out on the bed, or sometimes hanging upside-down off the bed and reaching back over her head to draw. That had produced most of the art in her Surrealist period.

She had a whole set of markers, and she began to scribble to make sure none of them were dry. Pacifica's mother, standing in the doorway, said, "Dear? Why are you using your left hand?"

(Mabel) paused for a moment, then said, "Because I want to learn how to be ambidextrous. My, uh, I mean Mabel's brother Dipper is ambidextrous, and it's so cool. Uh—little privacy now, Mom, so my Muse can fire me up?"

"Very well, dear," Mrs. Northwest said with a worried little smile. "Ah—don't hit yourself in the head again, though."

* * *

(Pacifica) walked straight into the attic room without knocking, as Mabel had advised her to do. Dipper lay on his bed, clicking a pen like crazy, his lips pursed in thought as he frowned at a big book balanced on his bent knees. (Pacifica) said, "So what's happening, bro'?"

"Hm, nothing, really," Dipper said. "According to Ford's second Journal, there should be a colony of spider monkeys in the woods, but so far I haven't tracked them down. I'm just trying to figure out where they might be hiding."

(Pacifica) came over and sat at the head of the bed, next to Dipper's pillow. He had to scoot over a little to make room for her. "Ugh. Why would you _want_ to find a bunch of smelly old monkeys, anyway?"

"Spider monkeys," he corrected. "And these aren't ordinary South American spider monkeys, but animals that are part monkey and part spider. If only Ford had provided a map or even sketched them—but I'm determined to locate their colony and photograph them, and then—wait, what? 'Smelly old monkeys?' Mabel, have you gone crazy? You love all animals—the smellier the better! Remember when you smuggled the skunk into your closet back home?"

"Oh . . . yeah, right," (Pacifica) said with an uneasy chuckle. "Well, but you know, monkeys in a zoo are one thing, right? Monkeys in real life—I've heard they, like, fling _poo_ and junk."

"You've done that, too," Dipper muttered, going back to clicking his pen. "Aw, heck, I'll try another part of the woods tomorrow. So how did your day with Pacifica go?"

"Oh, fabulous!"

"You're being sarcastic," Dipper said.

"No, really!" (Pacifica) felt a little nervous, but went on: "We played a couple of games in the arcade, sort of bummed around and talked, and then played some mini-golf on that course you guys—I mean we—made beside the Mystery Shack. It's really a lot of fun! Very creative."

"That's modest, since you designed it," Dipper said dryly. He slammed the Journal shut. "Aggh! Great-uncle Ford, why didn't you sketch in a little map, at least?"

"You could call him and ask."

"Except I don't want to bother him. He and Stan are in Glass Shard Beach this week, visiting our great-grandparents' graves, remember? The trip they had to postpone?"

"Oh. Ah, right." After a few moments of silence, (Pacifica) asked, "So—how do you really feel about Pacifica, Dipper? You hate her, right?"

Dipper had started chewing on his pen. He nearly bit it in half and spat it out. "What? No! I like her!"

 (Pacifica) couldn't keep the smile off her face or the relief out of her voice. "You  _do?_ Really? She'd be so glad to hear that!"

"I told her so, back at the dance. Remember? You should, because you made so much fun of how awkward I was dancing with her?"

"Oh, well, yes, but I'll bet she didn't even care about that. We sort of talked about you, and I know she likes you. A lot."

"She had a crush on me, yes. But I just don't like her in the same way, that's all. I mean, in some ways she's a really neat person and she's a lot of fun when she's just being herself, but Mabel, she deserves a guy who's been raised to know how to dance and what fork to use and all that stuff. I really like her as a friend—and she's good deep down, when the Northwest crust flakes off—but—well, you know, you can't decide who you're gonna feel romantic about, that's all."

"Oh." (Pacifica) murmured, "You know, Dipper, I'm sure Pacifica could teach you how to dance better. And how to dress and which fork to use. Those aren't important things, really. They . . . they . . . don't matter as much as . . . ."\

"Mabel? What's wrong?"

"Huh? Oh, I don't know. I'm , uh, not myself. I'm just feeling sort of off, I guess."

"Yeah, Wendy told me that would happen from time to time."

"You—you really like Wendy, don't you?"

Dipper sighed. "You know I do. If we could get over this thing she has about being too old for me, it'd be so great. By the time I start to college, it won't matter all that much, but right now—it weirds her out, you know?" Dipper raised his eyebrows and gave her a crooked smile. "Any advice from Mabel Land on how to handle that?"

(Pacifica) fought down a mean impulse to say nasty things about the redheaded lumberjack's daughter. _After all,_ she reminded herself, _Wendy jumped on one of those horrible eyeball bats and petrified some of Bill's hench-creatures! And she came right into the Fearamid, trying to save my family and everybody else in Gravity Falls_. _She has smarts and skills I'll never have. But she's not as beautiful as—as some other girls!_ Carefully, (Pacifica) said out loud, "Well, little brother, I'd just keep it way casual for now. Let her think it over. In fact, let her make the first move, you know? Why are you scowling like that?"

"LITTLE brother?" he said, giving her an icy, angry glare. "You know I hate that!"

(Pacifica) blinked. "What? But Mabel said—I mean, I thought that was your favorite nickname ever! Ooh! She'll pay for this!"

"Who?"

"Never mind!" (Pacifica) hopped off the bed and stormed out, leaving a puzzled Dipper wondering just what was wrong with his twin sister.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Mabel had confided in Wellington: "I make these mistakes with forks and things, and Father always is unhappy with me."

"That is not a problem, Miss Pacifica," the butler said. "Just watch me closely as I serve."

And sure enough, when Wellington set the salad course before her, he silently pointed at a fork. When the soup came, he indicated the right spoon. And he had also given her a piece of advice: "Watch Mrs. Northwest, and do as she does. Mr. Northwest had her schooled in elegant manners before he married her."

So she got through the evening meal without a slip—though she did make one mistake when she said, "Father, about your business—"

Preston said coldly, "Pacifica, we do not discuss such things over dinner! And children should never initiate a conversation. While we're at the table, you will speak when you are spoken to. Do you understand?"

(Mabel) whispered "Yes, Father." For the rest of the meal she didn't speak a word.

But when Wellington had taken away the dessert dishes and Preston had stood up and Priscilla did the same, (Mabel) asked, "Father, now that dinner is over, may I speak to you?"

"Do you want to begin by apologizing for your waste of your tutors' time and my money?" Preston returned sharply.

(Mabel) looked at the floor. "Yes, Father. I'm sorry I was thoughtless."

"Then come into the living room and tell me what you have to say."

"Just a minute!" The Northwests stared as (Mabel) hopped off her chair and dashed into the hall and up the stairs. She heard Preston saying resentfully, "She must get this from  _your_  side of the family!"

When she brought all the stuff she had prepared to the living room, she found Preston and Priscilla Northwest sitting side by side on the sofa. He was still looking fiercely unhappy—and Pacifica's mom was looking a little frightened. Her smile flickered like an unspoken apology of her own dying on her lips.

"Okay," (Mabel) said, setting up an easel and putting a stack of papers on it, "Father, I've been thinking about what you said. Sales of mud flaps are flat, right? Like this graph." She took off the top sheet of sketch paper, revealing a straight red horizontal line drawn across the next. "Well, what would you say if I told you that next year sales could look like  _this_?" She dramatically snatched away the straight-line graph. Behind it a green line curved up from the left to the top right corner, like a lopsided grassy smile. "Up, up, up!"

Preston sighed. "Pacifica, please."

"Tut-tut-tut-tut!" (Mabel) said. "Of course you want to ask ‘How are we going to inspire a wild burst of mud flap buying?’ I'm going to tell you the three secrets that will spell your success. It's actually spelled with three W's—"

" _Success_  has no W in it! Priscilla, first thing tomorrow call that private school and withdraw Pacifica! We're going to get tutors—"

"Dad—I mean Father," (Mabel) pleaded, "I'm not being literal. It's a mnemonic!"

"A what?" Preston asked suspiciously. "You just made up that word."

"I did not! It's a word that my br—uh, my buddy Dipper Pines uses. It means 'something that helps you remember.' Like the rainbow colors in order from outside to in are Roy G. Biv—red, orange, yellow, blue, indigo, and violet!"

Preston muttered the name and then his eyebrows went up. "Has anybody copyrighted or trademarked that idea?" he asked eagerly.

"It's public domain, Father," (Mabel) said, drooping a little. This was proving harder than she thought it would be. "Anywho, just remember the three W's as we go through this presentation: Welcoming, Warm, and Wired!"

"I don't understand."

Impatiently, (Mabel) hopped onto the sofa beside him and reached out to pooch his cheeks. "Welcoming. Warm. Wired!"

As she hopped down, Preston turned to his wife and said in a shocked voice, "She  _touched_ me! Aren't you going to do anything?"

"Shh," Priscilla said. "I think you should listen to your daughter."

"But she actually touched me! And she's the one who held hands with the hillbilly!"

(Mabel) said, "Dad! You can sterilize your cheeks later! Right now, pay attention. I'm trying to help you grow your business!"

"And increase your profits," Priscilla's mom added.

Preston took a deep breath. "All right. Go on with your nonsense. And it isn't Dad, it's Fa—"

(Mabel) said pleadingly, "I've  _always_  had a father. But I've always  _wanted_  a dad."

While Preston's face screwed up in an effort to understand the difference, (Mabel) tore off the sheet to reveal the next sketch. It was a series of cartoons of mud flaps, each one with a picture on it. At the top of the sheet was the all-caps word WECLOMING. It had been scratched through and below it was WELCOMING.

"Now," (Mabel) said, "to date, all your mud flaps have been the same—black polyurethane with the green NW logo on them. Does that welcome you? Huh? Does it spread out its big old arms and say, 'Come to me, little trucker?' I think not! But look at these!" She produced a pointer.

"Number one: with easy computer technology, we can make inserts. They'll quickly and permanently attach to pre-cast round holes in the center of the flaps. And they can be individualized! A trucker can have a picture of a girlfriend or boyfriend! A father trucker can have a photo of his kids! A mother trucker—"

"Pacifica!" roared Mr. Northwest. "Watch your language!"

"ANYWAY," (Mabel) went on, "you get the idea! Who could resist the welcoming look of a loved one on a set of mud flaps? Sure, it'll add a little bit to the cost, but we can boost the price to cover that—we'll call these 'Northwest's Welcomes' and it'll be a premium line!"

"I think she has something," Priscilla murmured.

Preston's eyes narrowed. "Yes. Yes. Long-haul truckers are notoriously sentimental. It has merit. Have you done a cost-benefit analysis?"

(Mabel) spread her arms. "What am I, an economist? Dad, you have people who can do that for you! Let me go on to WARM."

"Very well. Proceed."

She tore off the sheet. The WARM page had sketches of the mud flap factory and of very strange-looking animals. "Now, currently, your factory is discharging toxic chemicals into the water daily, causing extreme mutations in animals. There are cows with eight legs, bears that are mostly made up of bear heads—"

"Stop right there! The Environmental Protection Agency representatives that I bribed found no link—"

"Father."

"Oh, very well. What's your idea?"

"We project an image of Northwest Mud Flaps as a warm and caring organization that protects the environment!"

"But we can't do that because _money_!"

"Sh-sh-sh! I estimate that a water treatment facility added to our factory will diminish profits by only five per cent—and the boost we get from the Welcome Line and the positive publicity from being the Warm Mud Flap Facility will cause a fifty per cent rise in profits! Net effect: MORE money!"

 "You're finally talking sense," Preston said. "Good money. I mean good girl."

 "Now are you ready for the crown jewel? Here we go. This will blow your socks off!"

 The last sketch was headed WIRED.

 "All right," (Mabel) said, holding up both hands. "Close your eyes— _close 'em!—_ and picture the Welcome line of mud flaps, made in a Warm, eco-friendly factory. Now, instead of putting pictures in the circular openings of the flaps, think of putting a wi-fi hotspot in!"

 "That," said Preston Northwest, "is insane."

 "Is it? Is it? IS IT?" (Mabel) asked. "Every truck on the road can make wi-fi available all over the country if it sports a pair of Northwest Wired mud flaps! I know an inventor who can design them! They'll keep a constant signal level for anyone within range. And, Dad, here's the beauty part: We can create the Northwest Wired Web! And we can charge users for it!"

 "Say that beautiful word again," Preston said.

 "Charge 'em!"

 Preston wiped a tear from his eye. "My little girl!"

 "Look," (Mabel) said, "everybody wants to have Internet access at all times, even on the road. We charge a subscription fee, and maybe even a connection fee—not high, maybe a quarter for half an hour or something. But it will mount up. Now, we take the initial subscription fee as ours. We give each trucker ten cents of all the connection charges. We keep fifteen cents. And here's my estimate of how much we'll make in just one year!"

 She tore off the last sheet but one, and the very last one read

 $$$ ZILLIONS OF DOLLARS! $$$

 "Oh," Preston murmured. "Pacifica, from now on, you may call me 'dad.' After dinner. In private only. No more than once a day."

 "Thank you, Father," (Mabel) said. She grinned as she thought,  _Wait'll Pacifica gets a load of how her dad has changed!_

* * *

 

And meanwhile, back in the Mystery Shack . . . .

It was soooo tempting.

The thought had come to Pacifica in the night, as she struggled toward sleep in Mabel's bed, in Mabel's strange nightshirt, in the creaking, crackling, popping old Mystery Shack.

_What if Wendy Corduroy TOLD Dipper she'd never love him?_

_What if Wendy changed from being so easy-going and laid-back to being, well, sarcastic and sort of cruel and belittling? Hah. "Belittling." THAT would break up Dipper's hope for a romance REAL fast!_

_I'll get back at Mabel for telling me to be sure to call him "little" brother! I don't know how, but I'll get back at her—_

_Aggh! Wait a second. That's how I used to think, back before the ghost and the never-mind-all-that stuff and before seeing Dipper again this summer and feeling my heart beat faster and realizing OMG, I'm like totally smitten. He doesn't think I'm that kind of a person._

_But—if Wendy were that kind of a person . . . ._

_It's so totally tempting!_

The next morning Melody woke her up way too early—"Seven o'clock, Mabel!"

"Aggh!" (Pacifica) sat up in bed, wondering what the strange smell was. "Nobody gets up at— _there's a pig in the room_!"

"It's only Waddles," Melody said. "You know how unhappy he is when you don't play with him first thing!"

Waddles looked as if he could feel about as unhappy as a slab of smoked ham could. He grunted and nosed around the floor.

"Uh—thanks, Melody," (Pacifica) said. "What's for breakfast?"

"Soos's  _Abuelita_  has made _chilaquiles_. Hurry! Dipper's already eating."

 Dipper! (Pacifica) got out of bed, reluctantly scratched Waddles's ears, and then took a very hot shower. She couldn't understand how Mabel ever did anything with that thick brown hair of hers—she finally tied it back into a kind of ponytail—and then she pulled on skirt, sweater, and shoes (the girl really needed some education, because an arcade game was definitely no guide to fashion where shoes were concerned).

 She followed her nose to the dining room, where a smiling  _Abuelita_ sing-songed "Good morning!" and set down a hot plate of what looked like tortilla triangles, strips of chorizo sausage, a red sauce, and, crowning it all, a poached egg.

 Dipper sat at the table, nose in a book, shoveling food into his mouth with absent-minded  _nom-nom-nom_  sounds.

 "Good morning, Dipper," (Pacifica) said.

 "And here is some juice,"  _Abuelita_  murmured, setting down a glass of orange juice.

  _Mabel would thank her!_ "Thank you very much," (Pacifica) said.

 " _De nada, chica_!" The old woman bustled back to the kitchen.

 "Dipper! I said good morning."

 "Oh, hi, Mabel. Hm. I think today I'll try the eastern bank of the river. There are a lot of big trees there, good monkey country. You want to come?"

 "No, I don't think so." (Pacifica) closed her eyes and took a bite of the foreign breakfast. "Hey, this is pretty good!"

 "Hah. You told me grape-scented stickers were good!"

 "Uh, look, Dipper, I'm sorry I made fun of you. I shouldn't have called you 'Little.'"

 "Oh, it's okay," Dipper said, pushing his empty plate back. "I mean, I've grown like half a foot since last year. I shouldn't complain. Of course you  _are_  still taller than me, but only by a millimeter."

 "Yeah."

 He tilted his head. "Are you okay?"

 "Just a little down, I guess."

 Waddles came wandering in and looked up hopefully.

 Dipper asked, "Aren't you going to give him a tortilla chip?"

 "Huh? Oh, sure." With finger and thumb, she gingerly picked one up. "Here you are, Waddles." She dropped it, and he fielded it before it had a chance to hit the floor. "Have fun looking for your monkey spiders."

 "Oregon spider monkeys!" he said. "I'm not going out right away. I think I'll wait until Wendy comes in. I always like to say hi to her. I'll be in my room."

 He left the table and she heard him climbing the steps up to the attic room. Moodily, (Pacifica) ate a little of the breakfast, feeding about half of it to Waddles. When he munched a piece of chorizo, she muttered, "Cannibal!" in an accusing voice.

 She leaned her elbow on the table and her cheek on her hand as she watched the pig nose around for any overlooked fragments of food. And, darkly, she thought,  _Wendy, Wendy, Wendy!_

 

* * *

**Chapter 4**

(Pacifica) went up to the attic at 8:30. "Hey, Dipper," she said, "Wendy won't be in today. Dentist's appointment or something. She called just now, so you can go look for your spiders any time."

"Shoot," Dipper muttered, closing the Journal he had been reading. "Okay. I'll be out east, along the river bank south of the lake, if she comes in and wants to call me."

"I'll be sure to tell her."

Dipper put on his backpack and clattered down the stairs. (Pacifica) followed. She watched him get on his bike and ride off. Now if only he didn't meet Wendy on her way in—but then Wendy was coming from the other direction, and if Dipper got to the turn just a half-mile away before she did, they'd miss each other. And from what Mabel had told her, Wendy was pretty casual about coming in on time.

(Pacifica) hurried back to the gift shop and left a Post-It note on the cash register, printed sloppily:  _Wendy, Mabel needs some help up in the attic. Thanks! Dipper._

That done, (Pacifica) went first to Mabel's bedroom, where she dug out a few bandanas from one of the bureau drawers. Then she hurried upstairs, opened the closet, and unrolled the carpet. She retrieved the handcuffs that Stanley Pines had brought home the previous summer after a run-in with a couple of Federal agents—Dipper had claimed them and had hung them up in the attic as a decoration.

At a minute before nine, (Pacifica) went out onto the landing and successfully handcuffed herself, hands behind her back. She heard a car pulling into the parking lot—had to be Wendy. (Pacifica) shuffled her feet over the carpet, building up an electrostatic charge, and then lay down in the center.

A minute later she heard Wendy's voice downstairs: "Mabel? You up there, dude?"

"Yeah!" (Pacifica) called. "Help, please!"

Wendy's boots clomped up the stair, and the redhead came into sight. "What're you doin' layin' there?"

"Dipper handcuffed me! He didn't want me to go with him to the river. Get me up, Wendy!"

"Sure."

But as Wendy bent down and touched her—

ZAP!

(Pacifica) was ready for it, and a second later, in Wendy's body, she jumped up. (Wendy), now in Mabel's body, was blinking in confusion. Before she could yell, (Pacifica) had gagged her with two of the bandanas. "I'm sorry about this, but I've just got to find out something from Dipper. I'm gonna put you in this closet, but I promise I'll be back just as soon as I can."

(Wendy) was growling—obviously mad—and (Pacifica) quickly rolled up the rug, then stashed it. She tied (Mabel's) ankles together and picked her up— _wow, Wendy is really strong!_  she thought—and tucked her comfortably in the closet, next to the rolled-up carpet.

Then downstairs. Wendy's car was parked outside, but (Pacifica) doubted that she could drive it. However—

Soos was unlocking the museum. She said, "Soos, man, I just got a call from Dipper. He's captured something out in the woods and wants Mabel and me to go help him. OK if I take some time off?"

"Uh, sure, Wendy," Soos said. "Tuesdays are slow anyways. Melody can cover for you until you dudes get back."

"OK if I take the golf cart? We'll probably have to go off-road."

"Sure. Keys are hangin' behind the counter."

She had to search for them, but finally she spotted them. She also crumpled and pocketed the note. "Mabel's already outside. See you in a few."

"Have fun."

It felt a little heady to be out in Wendy's body. (Pacifica) sort of enjoyed the sensation of being tall and slender—it gave her a whole new perspective, in a way. She fired up the golf cart and then took off, heading across country toward the part of the river where Dipper was exploring. It was a jouncy ride, and she had to detour around thickets and avoid steep hills, but she figured she should be in the general area within half an hour or so. Now if she could just locate Dipper . . . .

* * *

 

In the closet, (Wendy) was fuming. She squirmed and tried pulling her handcuffed wrists down low enough so she could pull her legs through and maybe untie her ankles—she could have done it in her own body, but Mabel's shorter arms made it impossible. She wondered what Mabel was up to—it wasn't like her to trick a friend like that. And though Mabel had told her of their adventures with the carpet (and she vividly remembered walking in on Soos when it looked as if he had lost his mind completely—turned out it was only Waddles in his body, as Mabel had told her)—though she remembered all that, (Wendy) had not had first-hand experience with body-swapping before.

"Grrrr!" If she could only get the cuffs off—but Mabel's hands were too big to slip out of their grip. The closet was stuffy and dusty, and the dust tickled her nose and made her eyes itch. She rolled onto her back and raised her butt off the floor. Now if she could just . . . bend . . . her . . . knees . . . .

The effort creaked her shoulder joints and made her elbows ache, but she got her bound wrists down to her heels. She pulled her knees even tighter against her— _Dang it, if Mabel didn't eat so much candy, I could probably do this easy!_ —and slowly, slowly managed to pull her heels through, and then her hands were in front of her—still manacled, but in a useful position. She reached up and yanked the bandana down, then spat out the one that had been crammed in her mouth. She managed to untie the hard knot in the other bandana, the one binding her ankles, then turned, fumbled for the doorknob, and got the closet door open.

_Keys._

Stanley Pines had a set somewhere—Dipper had taken the cuffs, so he probably had the keys, too. (Wendy) went into the attic bedroom and started looking in drawers.  _I forgot what it felt like to be this short,_  she thought. _Probably because the last time I was this short, I was, like, six years old!_

Aha! There were two strong-looking but small keys on a silvery ring. She retrieved them—and realized she couldn't reach the handcuff locks. Unless—

(Wendy) clambered onto Dipper's bed— _Man, the dude nearly died that time he laid on my bra! He'd have like an aneurysm if he knew I was in his bed!—_ and got the key in her mouth, gripping it with her teeth. She slipped it into the lock, but turning it was beyond her. However, more than one way to skin a cat and all that junk, so she carefully went to the desk and managed to trap the head of the key in the space between the top desk drawer and the left leg of the desk. Then, turning her wrists until the cuffs cut into them, she persisted until she heard a sharp click and the cuffs sprang open.

Okay. Now to find out what Mabel was up to. And the best way to do that, she thought, was to find Dipper. (Wendy) closed the closet door on the landing and then hurried down the stairs, nearly tripping herself up— _Mabel has really stubby legs!_

She saw Soos and said, "Hey, dude, know where I—where Wendy is?"

He looked at her in surprise. "Hambone! I thought you went out with her on the golf cart to find Dipper!"

"I guess she forgot me." (Wendy) went behind the counter and retrieved her cell phone from the shelf where she always parked it, along with her car keys. "I'll just have to catch up with her."

"Is something going on?"

"What gave you that idea?" she snapped before running out of the Shack.

Great. She had a car, she had her keys—and she had legs too short to work the pedals! (Wendy) punched Dipper's number into her phone and waited impatiently as she heard the rings.

"Wendy!"

"Dipper, dude!"

"Mabel?"

"Wendy!"

"You sound just like Mabel!"

"I know, man! 'Cuz I'm in her body!"

"Whose body?"

"Mabel's!"

"I thought you said you were Wendy!"

"Dude, focus! Remember that electron carpet you guys got all messed up with?"

"Oh—oh, no. You and Mabel—did you accidentally—"

"Mabel switched us on purpose! I don't know why!"

"She told me you had a dentist's appointment today!"

"That's a lie! What's  _with_ Mabel, Dip? She never lies!"

"I don't know!"

"Look, dude, where are you?"

Dipper told her. (Wendy) said, "If I could drive, I could be there in ten minutes. With these short little legs, it'll take an hour to get there!"

"Wendy! Your old bike is still in the shed," Dipper said. "You could ride it!"

"Yeah, I guess I could. Okay, Dipper, I'll be there ASAP. You wait near the road and watch for me. But remember, I look like Mabel, OK?"

"Man, that carpet ought to be burned!"

"NOT YET!" she yelled.

A minute later she was pumping the pedals of her old bike. The tires were a little squashy, but then Mabel didn't weigh as much as she did, and (Wendy) was pretty sure they'd hold out.

On the other hand, Mabel's short legs meant that she couldn't actually sit on the bike seat. This was going to be an uncomfortable trip . . . .

* * *

"Father," (Mabel) said, "I really ought to go over to the Mystery Shack because—"

"A focus group!" Preston said. He and Pacifica—well, Pacifica's body, anyway—were in the back seat of the limo, heading for neutral ground. He did not want to meet Fiddleford McGucket in his house, because McGucket's house used to be Northwest's house, and it would be awkward, so they'd arranged on the phone to meet at the library, where they could have a conference room to themselves.

Wellington drove with his usual quiet competency. Preston went on: "A focus group is what we need. I'll put my secretary to work immediately to round up a group of typical long-haul truck drivers—you know, moronic mouth-breathers. We'll get a professional artist to do concept images of a few dozen sample flaps and see which ones they like. Pacifica, this is a great idea!"

"But I really don't need to be there, you know?" (Mabel) said. She hoped that Pacifica wouldn't get too antsy in the shack. They'd planned to meet around noon, and it was already half-past nine.

They had already passed the Gravity Falls town-limit sign when Wellington suddenly jammed on the brakes. "Wellington!" Preston Northwest said sternly. "Be careful, man!"

Wellington's calm voice sounded as casual as it had when he was serving dinner: "Sorry, sir. The young lady on the bicycle shot right across the road."

"Hey! That's me!" (Mabel) yelped, looking at the rapidly receding girl on the bike.

"What's you?" Preston asked in an irritated tone.

"Uh, I mean—" With a sudden inspiration, (Mabel) put on a Cockney accent: "That's me ol' chumlette Mabel Pines on that bicycle, that is! Eh, wot!"

"Whoever it is, she should watch where she's going," grumbled Preston.

They got to the library, (Mabel) explained to Fiddleford the kind of technology they were looking for, and Fiddleford—who was more neatly groomed these days and looked more like an absent-minded professor than a wild-eyed hillbilly—scratched his shorter beard thoughtfully. "That sounds feasible, I reckon. An' if you're thinkin' volume, the price point could be quite reasonable, too. By cracky."

"Sir, I like the way you think," Preston said. "Well, if my daughter could do it and survive, I suppose I can, too. Shake on the deal?"

Preston only winced a little when Fiddleford spat in his palm prior to the handshake.

He was still frantically pumping hand sanitizer when the limo started back toward the Northwest house. At the intersection where Mabel Pines had shot past on the bike, (Mabel) insisted on getting out. "I'll be home soon, Father," she said.

"Call me 'Dad,' money. I mean honey," Preston said, not even looking up from the calculator where he was estimating profits.

(Mabel) jogged in the direction that the bicyclist had gone. She tapped Dipper's phone number into Pacifica's phone.

"Pacifica?" Dipper asked as soon as he answered.

"Mabel!"

"OK," Dipper groaned. "You are in Pacifica Northwest's body, right?"

"Right!"

"And Wendy is in your body, right?"

"Ri—wha-wha-WHAT?"

"I see Wendy coming now—except she's you. I mean your body. Where are you?"

(Mabel) told him.

"Okay, we're gonna head back along the road toward you. You come and meet us. If you see Wendy driving the golf cart, that's really Pacifica. Hi, Mab—Wendy."

Weirdly, (Mabel) heard her own voice coming back at her over the phone—she couldn't understand the words, but the tone sounded  _mad_.

And then Dipper said, "Let's start back this way, and I'll try to explain. Except I'm not sure I even understand it. Mabel, you still there? No, Wendy, I'm talking on the phone to Mabel—no, not her, the Mabel you saw wasn't Mabel—no, not like the shapeshifter—Mabel? Look, come and meet us. We'll have to find Pacifica and straighten this mess out!"

* * *

**Chapter 5**

"I am so freakin'  _mad_ right now," (Wendy) said as they got back to the Shack. She was walking with crossed arms and hunched shoulders, but the pose looked really odd, given that she was occupying Mabel's body. "I mean, what is up with Pacifica? She like stole my identity! And my body!"

"I think I know," (Mabel) told her. "Hey, don't glare at me, Wendy! I'm not Pacifica, I just look exactly like her right now."

(Wendy) rubbed her eyes and sighed. "Okay, okay. Mabel, no offense, but I can't get used to your body! It's like only two-thirds the size I'm s'posed to be! And I already  _had_ braces once. It's not fair that I have them all over again!"

"Yeah, mine sometimes whistle when I talk," Mabel agreed. "But I get 'em off in December!"

"Lot of good that does me right now!"

Dipper said, "Please, ladies. Come on, let's go talk this out."

(Wendy) muttered an apology. They went in the side entrance. Abuelita was probably having her pre-lunch nap, and Soos and Melody were puttering around the museum, tidying and sprucing up, chatting happily as they did, and they barely noticed the three as they headed upstairs. They gathered in the attic bedroom, all of them sitting on the floor. "Okay," Dipper said, "First, Mabel was going to explain what she thinks is going on."

"Well, it sounds kinda mean," (Mabel) said, "but I  _think_ Pacifica is jealous of Wendy 'cause you like her so much. And maybe Pacifica is trying to break you guys up."

"Oh, great," Dipper moaned.

(Wendy) said, "Oh, come on! There's nothing  _to_  break up! I mean, Dipper and I like each other, an' we've agreed to keep our options open and all, but we're not like  _dating_ or anything!"

"We  _are_  hanging out together, though," Dipper added.

He sounded so hurt and hopeful that (Wendy) leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Yeah, dude, that's exactly right. We're hangin' out."

Dipper had turned a vivid shade of red. "Uh—Wendy, as long as you're in Mabel's body, don't do that, OK?"

"Yeah," (Mabel) said, shivering. "It kinda creeps me out, too."

"Sorry, guys," (Wendy) said. "Ya know, last year I was wishin' I could somehow go back and be like twelve again, but to tell you the truth, it kinda sucks when you're sixteen and you get zapped back to thirteen again. It's not you, Mabel, it's me."

"I know," (Mabel) said. "If I got put back into a ten-year-old's body, I can imagine how strange that would feel."

"Gideon's, what, eleven?" Dipper asked with a grin. "Why don't we invite him over and—"

"Evil!" (Mabel) bopped him hard with a pillow.

He swatted it aside and said, "So the first thing we have to do is find Pacifica. I mean find Wendy. Find Pacifica in Wendy's body. You know what I mean. And then—what?"

"Well," (Mabel) said, "I think part of her problem is that she's not very happy at home, and that's 'cause her family, mainly her dad, isn't happy, either. But I've tried to fix things up a little." She explained her ideas for transforming Northwest Mud Flaps into something more earth-friendly and exciting.

"Huh," (Wendy) said. "Y'know, if that works, you might suggest that Mr. Northwest makes, like, car mats the same way. Be neat to have a car mat that could give you wi-fi access."

"Good idea!" (Mabel) told her.

"What were you getting at?" an exasperated Dipper asked Mabel.

"Oh, right. Well, see, I think if Pacifica is happier at home, she'll be a lot easier to get along with. Right now her mom's kinda on her side, but both of them get intimidated by her dad. Her dad's real stressed 'cause he lost so much money— "

"Yeah, by investin' in  _evil_ bonds!" (Wendy) objected.

"But," (Mabel) said, "If he feels like he's getting his money back because Pacifica advised him, he's bound to feel better about her, right? And then he'll maybe treat her better?"

"Maybe," (Wendy) agreed. "Providin' I don't break both her legs when I get the chance. Nobody does this to a Corduroy!"

Mabel squirmed a little. "Uh, before we start planning strategy and all, could I please have my body back?"

"That'd make me Pacifica!" (Wendy) said. "I'm sorry, but no way! I mean, right now I am  _so_ pissed at her—'scuse the language, Dipper."

"It's OK," he said. "She kinda has a history of getting people that way."

"Well, I'm tired of being Pacifica too. How about this?" (Mabel) asked. "We all get on the carpet. I get my body back, and Wendy gets Pacifica's, but she doesn't have to keep it. Wendy, you and Dipper can trade."

"Hey, then I'd be Dipper!" (Wendy) said. It was hard to judge whether she sounded offended or amused.

"Yeah, and I'd be Pacifica!" Dipper groaned. "I'd get the worst of it! Uh . . . wouldn't I?"

"Hey, come on, it's not really  _that_ big of a deal. Last year I was Dipper for hours," (Mabel) told Wendy. "It's not so bad. A little awkward and sweaty, maybe."

"Yeah, and I was Mabel," Dipper said. "That wasn't exactly a picnic, either. You remember that time in the weirdness bubble when you and I had birds' heads, Wendy?"

"Kinda," she said. "That was right before I got hurt, and it's sort of blurry. I sorta remember wantin' to build a nest and eat worms."

"Yes! It was horrible! Well, being Mabel was worse."

"Hey!" (Mabel) objected. "You take that back, or I'll tickle you!"

"NO!" he yelled. "No tickling. Not when you're in Pacifica's body! I couldn't take that. Mabel, seriously, you keep your hands off me!"

"C'mon," (Wendy) told him. "If you've already been Mabel for a while, you can get used to Pacifica. And, dude, just think: If I walk around in your body for a while, I'll understand you better an' all."

"That's what he's afraid of," (Mabel) said with a wicked chuckle. "Hi-yo!"

"I am not!" Dipper objected hotly. "It's just—well, it's so personal, you know?"

"C'mon, Dip," (Wendy) said. "It'd be a solid, dude. I'd owe you big."

Dipper sighed. "Oh, OK. See, I  _knew_  you two would gang up on me, I just didn't know how. Well, I'm not crazy about the idea. Let's do it quick, before I change my mind."

They hauled the carpet from the closet into the attic room and unrolled it. (Wendy) asked, "Now I'm not sure of what happened to begin with, so how do we do this?"

"OK," Dipper said. "This is an electron carpet. It builds up a powerful static charge that somehow forces the mind switch. We walk in a circle, counterclockwise, shuffling our feet. Let's see—first Mabel and I will touch, and she'll be Dipper and I'll be Pacifica. Then another time around the circle and the two of you touch. Then she'll be herself again, but you'll be me."

"It's probably a little better than being Waddles," (Mabel) assured Wendy.

"It's a  _lot_  better," Dipper told her. "Remember, I  _was_  Waddles for a few minutes. Ever since then I've had the habit of eating the core when I have an apple."

"Well, Soos still—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dipper told her. "Look, if it's clear to everybody, let's just go ahead and make the exchange. The longer we wait, the more I'm dreading it."

"I think I got this," (Wendy) said, standing up. "Let's do it."

They shuffled around in a circle and made the exchanges. Mabel patted herself and said, "Hooray! Mabel is in the body, folks!" She kissed her hands and arms. "It's so good to have you guys back again!"

"Huh," (Wendy) said, flexing Dipper's arms and legs and looking down at everything. "So this is what bein' a boy feels like."

"Oh, man," (Dipper) said, "is that what my voice always sounds like?"

"Yup, bro-bro!" Mabel told him. "But hey, you've got Pacifica's voice now. You can hit E above high C!"

"No, thank you. That's not what I feel like hitting right now!"

Mabel almost collapsed laughing. "You even talk like Pacifica!"

(Wendy) sniffed. "Hey, Dip, got a change of clothes? These are a little bit ripe, dude."

Pacifica's face suddenly turned pink with embarrassment. "Hey, give me a break! I was hiking in the woods all morning," (Dipper) objected. "But, yeah, clean underwear's in the top bureau drawer, shirt and shorts in the second drawer, socks in the bottom. I think the vest hanging in the closet's fairly clean, too."

"That's 'cause Soos's Abuelita does the laundry now," Mabel confided. "If it was up to Dipper—"

"Zip it, Sis!" (Dipper) warned.

(Wendy) got the clothes out. "Man, this is insane. Dipper, are all your outfits identical to each other?"

"I'm a busy guy, and that saves time when I pick out my clothes," (Dipper) said. "Hey, hey, wait, stop, leave your shorts on for a minute! Wendy, please don't change in front of me! That's just too weird."

"So go out in the hall," Mabel said. "Or go to the bathroom."

"I'm in Pacifica's body! I'm not sure I even know  _how_ to go to the bathroom!"

(Wendy) chuckled. "Just do what comes naturally, man. Hey, if you want to tick Pacifica off big time, you could start by havin' a bubble bath, dude."

"Ohhhhh." Mabel shuddered, then looked suspiciously at her twin. "Dipper, did you do anything weird or pervy when you were in  _my_  body?"

"No!" (Dipper) shouted. "I was too freaked out by being my own twin to think of anything gross or—or you know. Look, I'll go wait on the landing while you change clothes, Wendy. Come with me, Mabel."

"What for?"

"Because I would appreciate a little privacy for my body," (Dipper) insisted. "Come on!"

Mabel giggled. "Ga-doy, you big silly! We used to take baths together!"

"But not since we were three years old!"

"Go on, Mabel," (Wendy) said in a kind voice. "I can understand where he's comin' from."

So Mabel and (Dipper) went outside, pointedly not speaking to each other, and it took (Wendy) only a couple of minutes to change. Then the three conferred again. "All right," (Dipper) said. "Now, Pacifica doesn't have Wendy's phone, 'cause she had it."

"Picked it up from the shelf under the register, where I always park it," (Wendy) said. "Got it in my—your pocket now."

(Dipper) nodded. "And Mabel, you have Pacifica's phone, right?"

"Yup. Well, I mean  _you_  have it now. It's in the pocket of her jeans. Be careful of those, by the way—they're a designer number, like five hundred dollars a pair. Oh—don't know if you realized it, but Pacifica has you on speed-dial, Dip."

"Aggh! OK, OK. So I'm guessing Pacifica has  _your_  phone, Mabel?"

Mabel frowned. "Well, we swapped phones, but I don't know if she picked up mine again after she traded bodies with Wendy."

"I don't know, either," (Wendy) said. "I didn't see anything she did. She left me handcuffed in the flippin' closet!"

(Dipper) said, "Let's think it out. Wendy, you found your phone, so she didn't take that one. Let's assume that she's got Mabel's. OK, here's what we do: Wendy, you call the number. If Pacifica answers, remember you're me. She wants to see me, so you tell her to come back here to the Shack. When we get her here, we should be able to hold her down and change everybody back."

"I don't know," Mabel said. "Wendy's pretty strong."

"Yeah, there is that," (Wendy) agreed. "No offense, Dipper, but you have these little noodly arms."

"I know," (Dipper) said miserably. He flexed Pacifica's arm and said, "Heck, even Pacifica has more muscle than I do."

"Tennis and horseback riding," Mabel explained.

"Cheer up, dude," (Wendy) told him. "That's somethin' you can fix with a little exercise."

"And diet," Mabel said. "Remember, diet is important, too."

"Don't tell me that! You once ate the wallpaper off one whole wall of our room!" (Dipper) said.

"I was four, and it had strawberries printed on it!"

"Chill, dudes," (Wendy) said. "We got this, OK?"

"Wendy makes a cooler _you_  than you do, bro," Mabel confided.

"Wendy's always cool," (Dipper) said. "Okay, Wendy, use my phone to call Pacifica at Mabel's number. I hope I got all that right."

"Yeah, sounds right," (Wendy) said. She took the phone from a vest pocket. "You got Mabel on speed dial?"

"Under  _contacts_."

"Let me just tell you," Mabel said to (Wendy), and she recited the number. Wendy punched it in and waited. And waited. Then, with a frown, she thumbed her phone off. "Went to voice mail," she said.

"I don't like that," (Dipper) said.

"Yeah," Mabel agreed. "She'd have checked the caller ID. There's no way that Pacifica wouldn't answer a phone call from my bro."

"Unless for some reason—she  _couldn't_ ," (Wendy) said, and they all stared at each other in consternation and sudden fear.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

 "How are we gonna find her?" Wendy asked. "If she didn't go to the woods near the river, and she won't answer her phone, what do we do?"

(Dipper) said, "Hang on, hang on, I got this." He took Pacifica's phone from his pocket, but then grunted in frustration. "Hey, Mabel, what's her password?"

Mabel leaned over, looking at the phone's screen. "It's—uh. I forgot!"

"Aggh! OK, let me think—Wendy, is my phone in the bottom right inside vest pocket? It'll be buttoned up."

"Let me check—yep, here it is." (Wendy) handed it over.

"This ought to work. Mabel and I have the exact same phones."

Mabel shook her head. "Wrong-o! Yours is a dull boring gray. Mine's an exciting hot pink. Ka-POW! Hot. Pink!"

"Except for the cases, they're the exact same!" (Dipper) snapped. He punched in a number, then did something complex with the buttons. "Yes! Write this down," he said to Mabel. He read out a string of numbers. "Got that?"

Mabel was scrounging through the mess on the coffee table, stuff that she was mostly responsible for, from candy wrappers to kazoos. "Lookin' for a pen."

"Gahh!" (Dipper) reached for a pocket that wasn't there. He balled up his fist in frustration. "Why don't girls have pockets? Or pens?"

"Wait, wait, I'll get one!" Mabel ran to her room and after a few seconds bounded back with a sketch pad and a red marker. "Read it again, brobro! Or in this case, sissis!"

"OK, it's—Mabel, that's not funny!"

"Yeah, it is!"

"It's pretty funny, Dude," (Wendy) agreed.

"So what were those numbers again, Dip?"

(Dipper) read the numbers again in what he meant to be a blunt, level, no-nonsense tone, but coming out in Pacifica's voice, it sounded like a petulant, pouty diva whine.

"Those like geo-caching coordinates, dude?" (Wendy) asked.

(Dipper) nodded. "Yeah, it's the app that lets you trace down a lost phone. Our parents insisted that we get it and install it 'cause Mabel has lost hers before."

"Pfft!" Mabel said. "Once, last year, and I did not lose it! It wasn't even lost. All the time I knew exactly where it was."

(Dipper) said bluntly, "Sure you did. It was in Gompers's stomach."

"Yeah, that goat'll eat pretty much anything," (Wendy) said. She added with a casual glance at Mabel, "Saw him eat a rocking chair once."

"And don't forget the car tag that came up from the Gulf," Mabel added with a grin.

"A goat couldn't eat a rocking chair—wait a minute, that never happened. That's . . . a . . . MOVIE!" (Dipper) yelled. He'd flipped open his laptop and was keyboarding at a machine-gun pace. "Don't distract me, guys. Come on, come on, load. Maps, OK . . . Oregon . . . feed in the coordinates . . . enlarge. Yes! She's right here, close to the river south of the lake, about where I was hunting the spider monkeys but a little more to the south, where the river bends, see? Guys, we must've missed her by less than a half-mile. Let's go!"

"Whoa, Dip," (Wendy) said, "Hang on, dude. Think about it. Seems to me you'd better sit this one out."

"But it's your body out there! We've gotta get her back—and put her into this body, so I can get mine back from you!"

"Dipper," (Wendy) said, "there's a reason she's not answerin' her phone, and I'll bet it's 'cuz she's realized she's in serious trouble with me an' Mabel. Now, look, we'll go in very calm and let her know we're not gonna go all medieval on her. I'm pretty sure Pacifica'll come to me, because she'll think I'm you, and probably she'll come to Mabel, who'll she'll think is me, but if she sees herself hunting herself, she's totally gonna freak out the way she does. She's likely to hide or some junk."

"Wendy's got a point," Mabel said. "You hold down the fort, Dipper. But we'll stay in constant touch, and you can direct and advise us."

(Dipper) groaned. "Oh, man! This sucks! I hate being in this body!"

"Then we'll go and find Pacifica and get you sorted out as soon as we can, Dip," Wendy said. "C'mon. You know this is the best way to do it, right?"

In a frustrated tone that came out all wrong, (Dipper) agreed: "Right."

Mabel couldn't help giggling. "You sound like a grumpy-grump talking doll!"

Grinding Pacifica's teeth, (Dipper) said, "Just . . . go!"

He went out into the yard and watched them take off, Wendy on his bike and Mabel riding hers.  _There go the Mystery Twins_ , he thought bitterly,  _but I'm still right here_. (Dipper's) head hurt. He went back up to the attic and sat at his desk, his phone out and the laptop open, turned on, and plugged in. He picked up a pen and clicked it nervously. Why hadn't they called? Oh, it was because they'd been gone only forty seconds. Why didn't the time go faster?

It took the girls over half an hour to phone in. It was Mabel: "Dipper! We're close to the river. When we got here, we found the golf cart off the road parked behind some bushes, like she tried to camouflage it. And we just located the phone—it was laying on the ground under a tree a little way into the woods, but there's no sign of Pacifica!"

"Laying on the ground?" (Dipper) asked. Why in the world would Pacifica have tossed away her only link to—wait. "Hey, don't Wendy's flannel shirts have a pocket?"

He heard a muted back-and-forth, and then Mabel said, "That one has two!"

"Mabel, what kind of birds are you hearing?"

"Huh?"

"What kind of birds? It's important."

"Uh—well, there's—huh. No birds, Dipper. Don't seem to be any around."

Feeling as if cold fingers were walking up his spine, (Dipper) said, "Listen to me carefully. Look up into the trees. Look very closely. Tell me what you see." He bit his lip, hoping the answer wouldn't be—

"Dipper! There are like bunches and bunches real fuzzy ropes hanging in big saggy loops all over the place up there! They're kinda hard to see 'cause they're greenish, like the leaves!"

"They're not ropes," he groaned. "Webs!"

"Oh, my gosh! Wait a sec, Dip!"

"What? What? What are you doing? Mabel!"

Seconds ticked by, and then Mabel said, "Bro, I've just sent you a picture! See if you can tell what this thing is!"

The phone chimed to tell him he had an email. "I'll take it on the computer," he told Mabel, tapping at the keyboard. "Come on, come on, come on . . . ."

The email showed up, he opened it, and then he opened the attachment and blew it up to full screen.

The picture was . . . an abstraction in blotches and lines of green.

"Mabel, what am I looking for?"

"It was moving, so it's probably blurry. Upper right part of the screen. Brown."

"Looking, looking—got it. Oh, my gosh! Mabel, this is what I was searching for—an Oregon spider monkey! Weird-looking, man! Doesn't seem to have a tail, but four really, really long legs and—huh. No head!"

"Look closer! It also has a strand of web coming out of its butt!"

"Yeah, I see that now. Does it really not have a head, or is it just a weird angle?"

"I see another one. No head that I can see."

"How big are these things?"

"Um—bigger than a possum, smaller than a raccoon. 'Bout the size of a fat housecat, I'd say. Want me to take another picture—"

"No, not now." Talking half to himself, (Dipper) went on, "All right, all right, think now, these things are some freaky combo of monkey and spider. They string webs in the treetops, probably live on birds and squirrels and stuff like that . . . if they trap food like spiders do—Mabel!"

"Here!"

"Listen, look up in the trees where the webs are. Look for something hanging up there that will be like a great big cocoon!"

"Cocoon? That's adorable—no, no, it isn't! Oh, no! You mean Wendy's body may be—"

"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know! But look for something big wrapped up in webbing! And watch out for these things—there's nothing about them in the Journals except one little reference. No telling what they're capable of. Don't let one near you! But find Wendy!"

"Understood. Mabel out!"

(Dipper) fought back the urge to get up and run to the place as fast as Pacifica's legs could carry him.  _No, no,_  he told himself,  _Wendy is there—she's always cool in a bad situation. Let her and Mabel carry the ball this time._  He sat tight. It was about the hardest thing he had ever done.

He didn't even feel proud of his successful deduction: If Pacifica had been carrying the phone in Wendy's shirt pocket—it would have fallen out when something snatched her and hauled her upside-down, off her feet and up into the trees. That was the logical explanation for the phone's being on the ground.

He'd been right.

Although at the moment would have given his right arm to have been wrong.

* * *

And speaking of the moment, at that exact same time but a continent away, two brothers (one of them very, very nervous) were taking off in an airliner bound for Oregon. Here is what had happened to them just the day before . . . .

Stanford Pines stooped in the thin gray rain to lay the bundle of wrapped flowers on the grave. He straightened and cleared his throat. "Mom, Dad," he murmured.

"Figures it'd be a lousy day like this," Stanley said, trying without complete success to hold the umbrella over his brother. "Here we are with wet feet in grass up to our ankles! It feels miserable! So are ya happy, Dad?"

"Show respect, Stanley," Stanford told him.

"Yeah, well, that's more than he ever showed me." The two brothers stood side by side in the rain, heads bowed, each one with his own memories.

Stanford sighed and then said softly, "Well, Mom and Dad, both of your sons came to see you at last. Sorry it's so late."

"Late's right," Stanley said. "We waited 'til we both look like Dad. It ain't pretty, let me tell ya."

With a little smile, Stanford said, "Yes, it's true. We're not the boys we used to be, but you know, after all these years we finally found each other. And we also found our great-nephew and great-niece. And I hope you'd like to know that we're at peace with where our lives have taken us. That's more than I could have hoped for even a year ago, when I was lost in a very strange place farther away from here than you could even imagine." He put a six-fingered hand on Stanley's shoulder and squeezed as though comforting his twin. "But thanks to my brother, I found my way back home. Dad, believe me, you were so wrong about Stanley. He's not a screw-up at all. He's the bravest man I ever met."

"Ah, he won't believe ya," Stanley said, sniffling a little. "Here, let me put in a word or three. Listen, Dad, you told me not to come back before I'd made a fortune, remember? Guess what? I  _did_ make a fortune! An' I spent it all to bring Stanford back. Ya probably think that was dumb of me, but let me tell ya, I'd do it again! 'Cause what you never understood, Dad, is that money isn't what matters most in life. Family is. I wish you'd learned that years and years ago. Ya got the message now? Family!" He fished a handkerchief from his raincoat pocket and blew his nose with a honk like a foghorn. "Mom—I always loved ya. You know that. I just wish that when Pop was blowin' his top you would've calmed him down now an' then. But that's OK. Water under the bridge, an' I know you loved him and us, as much as you could. I hope you an' him are at peace now."

"I wonder if Dad ever forgave us," Stanford murmured.

Stanley shoved his handkerchief back into place and tightened his grip on the umbrella as a breeze sprang up, dashing some rain into their faces and dimming his spectacles. "Don't matter, Ford, if we forgive him."

"Stanley, sometimes you surprise me."

"Well—I may be a con artist and a master of deception, but I'll tell you one thing. In all those years when I was runnin' the Shack, I learned a hell of a lot about human nature. And ya know what? Only about ninety per cent of human nature is bad. The other ten per cent—that's what makes life worth livin'."

"Before we go back home I'm going to arrange to have the grass trimmed and this place neatened up. We'll have to bring the kids here some time to visit the folks. Show them around and tell them about the old days. You know, I was surprised the old pawnshop looks almost the same as it did."

"Yeah. Too bad there's a bookie shop up where our apartment used to be. Though I dunno, maybe Dad woulda liked that."

"Well," Stanford said, hunching his shoulders against another drift of rain, "we've seen our old haunts—except for the ones they've torn down—and we've visited our cousins—except for the ones in jail. Ready to go home now?"

"Almost," Stanley told him. "Just one place left that I'd love to visit."

"What? I thought we'd seen everything we came for."

"Well—except for Atlantic City. You still good at calculatin' odds, Ford?"

Despite the forlorn surroundings and dismal weather, Stanford Pines laughed. "As good as you are at controlling the fall of dice, Stanley."

"Let's go make Dad proud of us," Stanley said with a broad grin. "Let's go make some money!"

"Sounds fine to me. Goodbye for now, Mom and Dad. We'll bring the kids to see you before the end of summer."

"Yeah. Dad—you had lots of bad points, but ya toughened me up, so thank you for that. Mom—me an' Ford will always love you. So long for now."

The two men walked side by side, threading their way through the tombstones to their rented car. Stanford climbed into the passenger seat, and after closing the umbrella, Stanley slipped behind the wheel, took out his handkerchief again, found a dry corner, and polished the rain off his specs.

He held them up, saw they were clean, donned them again, and said, "'Course, Ford, technically I'm not even supposed to be in the state, let alone in a casino. But after all these years, they probably won't recognize me. So there's a little bit of a risk, and there's a definite but small chance we may both wind up behind bars. So what do ya say, Poindexter? Play it safe an' drive to the airport, or Atlantic City?"

Stanford leaned back in the seat. In a cool, cheerful voice he replied, "Stanley, I say 'Roll the dice.'"

Stanley gave a bark of laughter. "Now you're talkin' my language." He started the engine and the car rumbled out of the cemetery and made the turn.

The roses on their parents' grave twitched and drooped a little as the rain became heavier. Steadily, big drops fell from them and splashed onto the turf of the grave.

It was almost as if, silently, they wept.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

 

"Mabel," (Wendy) said in a loud whisper, "do me a favor, OK? Stop hummin' that tune!"

"Aw," Mabel said. "Everybody loves 'The Teddy Bear's Picnic,' Dip—I mean Wendy. Sorry. I'm so used to doin' things with brobro that I keep forgetting it's you in his head. Duh!" She crossed her eyes, pulled her hands inside the forest-green sweater sleeves, and waved her arms to demonstrate how forgetful she was.

"Yeah, it's an OK tune, but right at this particular minute I don't really want to be reminded that it's dangerous to go out in the woods," (Wendy) grumbled, head back, scanning the tree canopy. "I keep seein' those things, but they don't seem interested in us. If they wanted us for food, looks like one would attack. I'm startin' to think that Dipper's idea was wrong and Pacifica's not captured. She may just be hidin' someplace for reasons of her own."

Mabel shrugged. "I'd go with what Dipper says, though. He's usually sorta right, even when he's mostly wrong." She tilted her head back. In the soft, greenish shade under the high tree canopy, she had no need to shield her eyes from the light. Far up, sometimes swinging from branch to branch, sometimes scuttling up the trunks or along the horizontal hanging webs, the spider monkeys— _Oregon_  spider monkeys, she mentally corrected—weren't exactly common, but they weren't rare, either.

In an hour she'd seen five or six of them, with brown furry bodies shaped sort of like a football that had been blunted on both of the sharp ends, arms and legs that were super long and rickety-looking—and like a monkey's feet, their paws looked very much like hands—and heads so small that they couldn't even be seen from a distance. Or maybe they didn't  _have_  heads, Mabel decided. Maybe the bodies were really heads, and they didn't have bodies. Anything was possible in Gravity Falls, where anomalies that were commonplace were the stuff that, elsewhere in the world, certain people never saw but fervently believed in—if they were the sort of people that glared straight ahead of themselves while sitting on the subway and furiously argued with their invisible friends.

"Hey!" (Wendy) said, coming to such a sudden stop that Mabel ran right into her back, making them both stagger a little to keep themselves from falling.

"Sorry, Dip—oh, fudge cake and vinegar sauce! I mean  _Wendy_. What is it?"

(Wendy) was pointing way up and slightly to the right. "Is that a cocoon sort of thing hangin' off the limb up there?"

Mabel looked but saw only trunks and leaves and a criss-cross of webbing. "Where?"

"Redwood. No, Mabel, that's a cedar. Over to the left. No, now you're lookin' up a lodge-pole pine. The _redwood_ , dude! See the real straight tree with the rough-textured, peeling reddish-brown bark?"

"They're all the same!" Mabel complained. "They're  _trees_!"

"They are _not_  the same! Girl, I'm gonna have to take you to Lumberjack Camp for a week. Sheesh. Look right where I'm pointing. Got it now?"

"Uh—that one?"

"Right. Now way up. See where the branches start on the left side? Count up three and it's hangin' off about in the middle."

And there it was, hard to spot against the browns and greens, but once she had it, easy: A saggy kind of pouchy light-green bag, sort of like a 70% deflated balloon. "Oh, yeah! But that couldn't be Pacifica. It's way too small."

"'Bout the size of a punchin' bag," (Wendy) agreed. "But let's check it out. If there's like a stunned possum in it, we'll know Dipper's idea was on the right track, anyway."

They reached the bole of the tree, and (Wendy) took off her belt. Dipper's shorts promptly fell to his ankles. "Oh, man!  _This_ ain't gonna work! My arms and his belt are both too short for a belt climb." She tugged the shorts up and threaded the belt back through the loops. "What're we gonna do?"

Mabel had donned her forest-green sweater with a banana appliqué before they'd headed out as appropriate garb for invading spider-monkey territory. She reached inside and produced her favorite possession. "Grappling hook!" she said triumphantly.

(Wendy) grinned, though Dipper's face showed the expression. "Dude, you're always prepared."

"Naturally." She took aim and fired, and the hook flew up, over, and around the same branch from which the greenish pouch dangled. "Onwards, Mabel and Wendy! Grab hold!"

The zip up into the canopy was like riding a very fast elevator, or an insane carnival ride. At the zenith of their ascent, (Wendy) let go, her momentum carrying her the last couple of feet up, and grabbed the branch, swung back, and then swung forward and up, took her hands off the branch, flipped in the air, and landed on the limb close to the trunk, standing and holding out her arms for balance.

Behind her, Mabel clambered up onto the branch more awkwardly. "Whoa-ho-ho! Oh, man! Dipper would be  _totally_ stoked if he knew his body could do that!"

" _It_  can, but  _he_  can't. Not that he never could. Just takes practice. Okay, I can get most of the way out before the branch—shoot, what am I sayin'? Dipper's not nearly my weight. I think I can go  _all_  the way out to that thing. You stay here, OK?"

"OK."

"And don't look down."

"'S OK. I'm over my fear of—AHHHH!"

"What's wrong?"

"I looked down!"

"Well, don't!"

"I won't! But I already did!"

"Just hang on tight. I'll be right back." (Wendy) carefully walked along the springy branch, putting one foot squarely in front of the other. When she was nearly to the pouch, she lay along the branch on her stomach and reached around to probe it.

"Yuck! It's like all sticky. Kinda like Velcro or some junk like that, but coated with half-dried honey. And it's not heavy enough to have a possum in it. Think I should rip it down and bring it back?"

"Aaahhhh!"

"Mabel! Stop lookin' down!"

"No, no, I'm looking at the bag! Wendy, look at the  _bag_!"

"What about—oh my God!" (Wendy) jerked her hand back. About a zillion little scuttling things were pouring out of a vertical rip in the web bag, and three of them were already creeping on her hand.

She shook it and they flew off into space, but one shot out a web that snagged her fingers. She quickly swept her hand down past the branch, snagging the web and losing her passenger. Already about a hundred more of the little brown things—the size of a Concord grape or a little bigger—had reached the branch and were skittering in any direction they could find.

(Wendy) tightrope-walked—no, correction, tightrope- _ran_ —back to Mabel, adjusting her balance constantly, compensating for the way the limb bounced under the weight of Dipper's body. "Let's get outa here!"

"Grab hold!" Mabel released the grappling-hook, brake, and the two of them zizzed down, slowing only when they were halfway, and they made a fairly soft landing. Then Mabel twitched the line, and the hook retracted.

"Man!" (Wendy) said, trying to peel the sticky fragments of web from her hand, wiping it off onto the tree trunk. "It was an egg sac! Look at those little creepers up there! They're all comin' down on their own web strings."

"Wendy! You got one on your back!"

(Wendy) yanked off Dipper's vest and found the critter. She picked it up between thumb and forefinger. It squirmed and waved all four legs wildly.

Mabel grimaced. "Don't let it bite you!"

"I don't think it  _can_ , Mabel. Mouth's not big enough. Look at its tiny little head!"

Mabel peered more closely at the struggling brown creature. Where was its head—oh. She saw it, absurdly small even for a grape-sized critter—no bigger than the head of a pushpin. And now she could see it was an actual spider head, with two larger black eyes, three others that were so very tiny they were hard to spot, and a couple of pumping, flicking furry-looking fangs that twitched angrily. "Aw, it's adorable!" Mabel exclaimed.

"Matter of opinion." (Wendy) put the little animal on the trunk of the redwood, and it immediately began to scramble up toward the canopy. "Wonder how they taste?"

Mabel said seriously, "Wendy, very sincerely and with no humor intended,  _ew, gross_!"

(Wendy) chuckled, then said, "Hey, Mabes, I always wonder—when you use your grappling hook, how does it manage to untangle itself and come right back to you every time like that?"

Mabel shrugged as she tucked the grappling hook back inside her sweater. "I don't know, it's a mystery."

"Well, OK," (Wendy) said. "So now we know the spider monkeys can definitely spin cocoon-like things, even if that one didn't hold their dinner. Call Dip and report an' we'll go back to where the phone was."

Mabel gave her a surprised glance. "What? We're going back? We're quitting without finding Pacifica?"

"No, we're not quitting. Look, Mabes, I should've thought of this before, should've reasoned it out like Dip would. These things are kinda solitary, y'know? We see them, but they're really spread out, like they might be territorial, and we only see one at a time. But the size of them, well, just one of them couldn't have grabbed my body and hauled it up. They must've worked together if they did that—like the baby ones tried to do when they came after me. But I don't think even a couple dozen of the grown-up ones could carry me very far, so if my body is hangin' up in the trees, it would have to be just about above where the phone was layin'. You follow me?"

"Elementary, my dear Wendy!" Mabel said. "I'll call Dipper and we'll talk while we're walking."

* * *

"Good," (Dipper) told Mabel on the phone a few minutes later. "I should have come up with that idea earlier. I don't know, maybe having my mind in Pacifica's brain is screwing up my logic centers or something. But here's one up side: If the things have such little heads, then their fangs most likely won't contain enough venom to do real damage. Unless—they don't have stingers, do they?"

"Um, big nope on that, brogirl. Wendy held one in your fingers and it didn't bite or sting."

"Held it in my fingers? Ew!"

"My reaction too. Mystery Twins!"

"OK, so let me think, let me think—this bag thing, the egg sac or whatever, was green, you say?"

"Yeah, like the webs. Well, sort of a pale celery green. Pretty attractive color for a unisex bathroom, I'd say. Ooh, or a mohair sweater! Dipper, write this down: Memo. Buy some pale celery-green mohair yarn. Got that?"

(Dipper) held the phone in his left hand and with his right feverishly clicked one of his thinking pens before making a quick scrawl. "Focus, Mabel! Hmm. Hey, I think I've got it—if it's up there, I'll bet anything it's camouflaged! Some lepidoptera glue things onto their cocoons to make them hard for predators to spot—the emerald moth does that with leaves, the Australian case moth does it with sticks and twigs. Look hard and see if you see something that looks like a big hanging bag with, I don't know, leaves or pine needles or something glued all over it."

"Gotcha. We'll be back where we found the phone in about a minute. Don't forget to write down the—"

"I've done it already. Call me back after you search. But if you spot anything, call me at once."

Too fidgety to sit still, (Dipper) got up and paced in a circle, to the clicking beat of his ballpoint pen. He didn't even hear the attic door opening, and when Soos said, "Pacifica?" he jumped a mile.

He must have looked guilty when he spun. Soos tilted his head and gave him a long, puzzled look. "Uh, no offense, Pacifica, but what're you, like, doing up here in Dipper's room? Where's he and Mabel?"

"I'm not here! Uh, they're not here. But I—I—" (Dipper) sighed. "Soos, I'm just gonna level with you, man. You remember the electron carpet that was in great-uncle Ford's old room?"

"Huh? Oh, the zappy rug? Yeah, it turned me into a pig. Man, what a day that was! Though I did like the food. And the mud was a lot of fun. And I met that real nice lady. Old Man McGucket kept tryin' to eat me, though, and that wasn't cool, dude. And he was still tryin' for about a week after that. Ya know, I'm glad he got his memories back, 'cause now he doesn't try to eat people so much—uh, what were we talkin' about?"

"The electron carpet. Look, Mabel and Pacifica—"

"Mabel and you."

"No. Pacifica. I'm Dipper."

"Whoa! You're like freakin' me out, Pacifica."

"OK, remember, the carpet switches minds around? Like you were in Waddles' body?"

"Uh, yeah. When Old Man McGucket wanted to make bacon out of me. Hm. Y'know, bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches would be great for lunch."

"Soos, please. Concentrate, man! You're a lot smarter than this."

Soos chuckled awkwardly and shrugged. "Yeah, usually I am, Pacifica, but, you know, I got a lot on my mind. Melody may be expecting."

"Well, first of all, remember I'm not really Pacifica. I'm Dipper inside Pacifica's—wait, what?  _You're gonna be a dad_?"

Soos winced and looked guilty. "Uh, I wasn't supposed to say anything about that until we're sure. Don't tell on me, OK, Pacifica?"

"Dude! High five!"

"All right!"

"Well! Congratulations. You'll make a great dad. Now, about that electron carpet. Whatever you do—you're paying attention?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Don't get rid of it."

"Get rid of what, Pacifica?"

"The carpet."

"OK, I got it hidden in a closet somewheres. I'll take it out and burn it."

" _Noooo!"_

Five minutes later, Soos, sitting on Dipper's bed, frowned in heavy thought and said, "Let me recap this to see if I got it, OK?"

(Dipper) sighed. "OK. Go."

"Mabel and Pacifica swapped bodies for some reason you don't know."

"Right."

"Then for some reason you don't know, Pacifica, in Mabel's body, swapped with Wendy, only Wendy didn't know about it and didn't want to swap."

"Correctamundo."

"OK. Let me pause just a second. So now we got Pacifica in Wendy's body and Mabel in Pacifica's body and Wendy in Mabel's body. Check?"

"Check-o-roonie."

"So then Pacifica in Wendy's body goes off to find you in the woods for some reason you don't know, but that's where I thought you and Mabel were, but you weren't really, but then she was. Hambone, I mean, Mabel."

"Yes, Soos."

"But she gets lost or some junk, and you come back here, and Mabel in Pacifica's body comes back here, and when you're all up here, then Mabel and Wendy who's in Mabel's body swap, so Mabel is now in her own body and Wendy is now in Pacifica's body."

"You got it."

"OK. So . . . then Wendy swaps with you, Dipper . . . so Wendy's now in your body, and you, Dipper Pines, are in Pacifica's body."

"Yes."

"Hm. I'm way confused, dude. Let's go through that again."

"AUGGGHHHH!"

"OK, don't have a hemorrhage, dude. Uh—OK, I think this'll settle it—can you, like, prove you're really Dipper somehow?"

"How can I do that?"

"Um—well—"

"I got it!" (Dipper) said. "Listen, Soos, this is something that only you and I would know. We—you and me—we're p-terodactyl bros, right?"

"Right! High five!"

(Dipper) sighed and gave him the up-high slap. "I'm glad we got that clear. Now about the carpet—"

"Hey, wait a minute, Pacifica. We'd have to be, like, p-terodactyl siblings. 'Cause you're like a girl dude. Also, you told me it's not really pronounced p-terodactyl, but . . ." he wiggled his fingers, encouraging a response.

"Pterodactyl. The P is silent."

Soos laughed. "Boy, it's not when I do it! You should hear Melody complain when I get up in the middle of the night!"

(Dipper) pounded his head on the desk. Well, Pacifica's head.  _I should just go get the carpet and Waddles,_ he thought.  _It would be easier to explain all this to Waddles in Soos's head!_

However, the next second a miracle occurred. "But, like, the really important thing," Soos said slowly, "is I can't get rid of the carpet or lock it back up in the closet or anything until you all get switched back into the right bodies, am I right?

"Yes. Yes, you are. Exactly. Finally. Thank you, Soos."

"No problem, Pacifica. Oh, I gotta replace the light on the landing—bulb's burned out. But I won't move the carpet, and I'll leave the closet open. Unless I'm supposed to lock it back up—"

"No, no—you know what? Let the bulb go until later, and just totally forget about the carpet. I think that right now you should go make some yummy bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches for lunch."

"Hey, that does sound good! Yeah, I'll do that."

But he paused in the doorway. "Uh, Pacifica? I meant to ask: Why are you, like, in Dipper's room?"

Fortunately, at that moment the phone chimed, and (Dipper) scrambled to learn what Mabel had discovered.

* * *

 

**Chapter 8**

Mabel's urgent voice rang in his ears as (Dipper) answered the phone. "Dipper! Agent M here! Code flannel!"

She spoke so rapidly that (Dipper) barely understood. "Code what? Mabel, calm down—"

Mabel giggled. "You sound so  _cute_ when you try to be forceful in Pacifica's voice. But I ain't got time to calm down, Dip! We found Wendy's body, we think! Maybe!"

(Dipper) felt Pacifica's heart beating faster in his chest. "OK, where?"

"Um—you know the coordinates you gave us to help us find the phone?"

(Dipper) threw a scatter of loose papers from his desk and grabbed the one on which he'd scribbled a copy of the numbers. "Yes!"

"OK, same coordinates, due up."

"Wait, what?" It took (Dipper) a few seconds to process that. "Oh, you mean I was right? In the trees? She's hanging in a cocoon?"

"Well—there's _somethin'_  up there, but it's like camouflaged with leaves and stuff. It's kinda attractive, really. It could use a little more symmetry, and I would have used different leaves—"

"Mabel!"

He heard her sigh. "Right, back to business. It's way up in a—what kind of tree, Wendy?"

"Never mind the species!"

"Well, Miss Grumpy Pants, forget it then. But, Dip, there are all these monkey spiders swarming around up there!"

"Not monkey spiders! Oregon spider monkeys—"

(Dipper) heard his own voice: "We're wastin' time! Gimme that! Hey, Dip? Wendy here. Look, dude, we think we probably have her, and whatever's in that bag up there is movin' so it's not too late, but, dude, we gotta climb to get her, and it's about two feet too high for Mabel's grappling hook to reach. You gotta bring me some equipment. Now, here's what I need—"

It took him five minutes to round it all up, including a hatchet, and another thirty seconds to persuade Soos it was an emergency. Soos yelled, "Hon! I'm on like a rescue mission! Watch the Shack!"

From the gift shop, Melody called back, "Go get 'em!"

"Let me carry that, Paci—Dipper." Soos grabbed the big coil of rope, and then they ran out the door.

Behind them, Melody called, "Drive carefully, darling!"

As they sprinted toward the Jeep, (Dipper) said to Soos, "You are one lucky man."

"Tell me about it, dawg. OK, seat belt buckled, Pacif—I mean Dip—hey, dawg, can I call you Pacdip? Makes rememberin' easier."

'Whatever, sure, just go!"

"It's like urgent?"

"Wendy's been captured by giant spiders, and they've hung her in a tree!"

"Oh. That sounds urgent. Hang on, dudette! Da-da-da-dat-ta-da!  _CHARGE!_  Heh. Always wanted to do that." Soos floored the accelerator. The Jeep left the ground as they went over a low hill, pounded back down, and reached the highway. "No time to obey traffic laws!" Without pausing at the stop sign, Soos made the tires squeal as he cut into a hard left turn.

"Other way! Other way!" (Dipper) yelled, hoping that he wouldn't wet himself.

"You shoulda said. Hang on!" The Jeep cut a tight donut, tires smoking, and Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland, heading toward town in their cruiser, had to jam on the brakes to avoid a collision.

Soos stopped, the Jeep at least pointing in the right direction, as the lawmen pulled up alongside. Blubs rolled down the window of his cruiser and said, "Hold it right there! You committed an 1103, a 1604, and possibly a WD-40!"

Beside him, Durland called, "Where's the fire, boys?"

"It's not a fire!" (Dipper) yelled back. "We're going to save our friends from giant spiders! Come and help us!"

"Spiders?" asked Blubs nervously. "Sorry, but my deputy suffers from arachnophobia."

Durland objected: "No, I don't! I'm just scared of spiders, is all!"

Blubs smiled and waved. "But have fun!"

(Dipper) yelled, "Go, Soos, go! To the river, then turn south!"

"Those are real nice guys," Soos said as the view through (Dipper's) passenger window became a green blur of motion.

(Dipper) reserved his opinion.

It ordinarily would have taken Soos about ten minutes or a little more to reach the spot, but that day he made it in six. "Here, here, pull off on the grass!" (Dipper) yelled, and Soos did. There was a wide enough grassy shoulder for the Jeep to rest well off the road. They spilled out, Soos grabbing the rope, and (Dipper) yelled, "We're here! Where are you?"

Faintly, to their right and from deeper in the woods, came Dipper's normal voice: "Over here! Hurry up, Dip!"

"That's you, dude!" Soos gasped as they ran toward the sound.

"It's Wendy! She's in my body, remember!"

"Oh, yeah, Pacdip. Hey, can I call her like Wendip?"

"Whatever! Hey, Wendy, yell again!"

"Over here!"

They pushed through brush. Now they could glimpse the river, past the last stand of trees. And standing beneath a tree that grew in a sort of clearing of its own were Mabel and Dipper. Or Wendy in Dipper's body.

"We got the stuff you asked for!" Dipper panted. "I'm so glad to see you guys!" He dropped almost everything he was carrying and hugged Wendy.

Mabel's phone clicked as she took a photo. "Blackmail," she said in her soft, evil voice. "Hah! Dipcifica!"

"Hey, Mabel," Soos said, "my name for him is Pacdip."

"Give me the belt," (Wendy) said. "And the axe."

"This do?" (Dipper) asked, handing her the hatchet.

"Yeah, yeah, it'll have to. Man, Dipper, you got like no waist!" With some difficulty she jammed the handle of the hatchet down through Dipper's belt. "How long's that rope?"

"'Bout a hundred feet," Soos said.

"OK, let me see if I can carry it. Awkward. Dipper, I am gonna recommend an exercise routine for you. You gotta build up your strength.!"

(Dipper) said, "Yeah, and Grunkle Stan wants me to have boxing lessons."

"Couldn't hurt. Your belt, Soos?"

"Yeah, dawg. Is it OK?"

(Wendy) hit the tree bole with the belt like a slap bracelet, and she caught the other end. "Perfect. Wish me luck."

"Man, look at him go!" Soos said as (Wendy) used the belt to hitch herself up the tree. "Dude, you're like a lumberjack, Pacdip!"

(Dipper) said, "I had no idea my body could even do that! Hey—I didn't notice, but there's the Oregon spider monkeys!" He grabbed his camera and began shooting, standard shots, zooms, extra-long zooms. "I have to show these to great-uncle Ford!"

"They must've drug Pacifica up right here," Mabel said. "I'm standing where we found the phone, and there's the cocoon right overhead, see?"

(Dipper) had trouble noticing it—the camouflage was nearly perfect—but it was heaving and twitching as the spider monkeys swarmed around, attaching new lines as old ones snapped.

"Wendip is up there!" Soos yelled.

(Dipper) clenched his teeth as he saw his own body walk out along the limb. A spider monkey rushed Wendy, and she twirled the hatchet and—discouraged it. The wounded animal fell to the ground with a thump, and (Dipper) rushed over to photograph it.

It seemed more stunned than harmed, and he retreated as it got back up on its four spindly legs and scuttered over to a more distant tree, which it climbed in a hurry. Mabel yelled, "Look out, Wendy! One coming down behind you!"

Up on the limb, Dipper's body spun, the hatchet hissed through the air, and the spider monkey plummeted as the blade severed its web. Now all the creatures had retreated. Dipper's body lay down on the limb, leaned over, and tied the rope to the base of the leaf-covered sac. (Dipper) heard his own voice: "Stop strugglin' if you don't' want to fall! We're here. We got you now!"

And pretty faintly, muffled and sounding weak, Wendy's voice from the cocoon: "Dipper? You came to rescue me? I love you!"

(Dipper) winced at the words. They were in the right voice—but they came from the wrong mind.

"OK down there," (Wendy) called, "I'm gonna lower her down. If I lose my grip, try to break her fall. I don't know how strong Dipper's arms are gonna be!"

Soos promptly lay down on the ground directly under the cocoon. "Use me like a big old trampoline!" he yelled.

"Cutting the cocoon loose—ugh! Here—she—comes!"

(Dipper) yelled, "Hang on! You can do it!"

(Wendy) had tied off one end of the rope around the limb, the other to the cocoon. She leaned back, straining, threading the rope around her waist, letting the slack fall in a long loop.

"Hurry!" Mabel yelled. "Some of the spiders are coming back! They're in the next tree!"

"Omigosh, omigosh, omigosh!" (Dipper) said, looking around for something to throw.

"Hey, Pacdip!" Soos said from the ground, "Can you use a flip? You know, a slingshot?"

"Uh—yeah, but Mabel's better!"

"Hambone, look in the toolbox behind the back seat of the Jeep. Slingshot there and a bag of ball bearings. Kind of a hobby of mine."

Mabel dashed through the underbrush. Up on the limb, Dipper's body strained and grunted as slowly, penduluming, the cocoon came down foot by foot. (Dipper) yelled, "Hurry up! One's on the end of the limb!"

The brush crashed and Mabel said, "Got it!"

"Don't hit Wendy!" (Dipper) yelled.

Mabel loaded a metal pellet, tilted her head back, stuck her tongue in the corner of the mouth, drew a bead, and—

_Thwap!_

The spider monkey jerked and fell from the limb, catching itself on a hastily spun webline, and swung back to the other tree. The others hesitated, obviously scared of whatever had knocked their friend off its perch.

"Hah!" Mabel yelled, doing an air punch. "You want some more of that? Come on, you freaks of nature!"

"Dawg!" Soos said. "You're usually, like, kind to animals!"

"I'll be kind when they're not trying to eat my brother and my friend!"

"Soos!" (Wendy) yelled, "I gotta drop this! I can't hold it any longer. You got it?"

"Bombs away, Wendip! It's just ten feet or a little more!"

"Here she comes!"

The rope caught the bag when it was inches from Soos's stomach. "Good deal!"

"Let's get her out of there!" (Dipper) said.

"Wait, is that  _me_?" Wendy's voice asked from inside the cocoon.

"Comin' down!" (Wendy) yelled. She grabbed the rope and slid down it. "Look out below!"

Soos had pulled out his pocketknife and cut the knot on the mouth of the cocoon. He lifted it and moved it aside—and got stuck to it in the process—and Dipper's body came down fast and landed hard.

"You OK?" Mabel asked, helping (Wendy) up.

"Yeah, but man, that was hard! You gotta get in better shape. Promise me."

"I promise," (Dipper) said.

"What is going  _on_? And I'm in  _great_  shape!"

(Dipper) helped Soos get unstuck from the webbing. "Give me the knife," he said. "OK, I'm gonna cut you out. Don't squirm or anything."

It was a tedious process. If the cut web-stuff touched itself, it tended to seal right back up again. But finally, with Soos's and Mabel's help—(Wendy) was sitting on the ground, keeping an eye on the spider monkeys—though they seemed to be mostly arboreal and reluctant to approach them.

"There you are!" (Dipper) said as he saw Wendy's face inside the cocoon. "Did they bite you?"

"Bite me? No, they—uh, no. I was looking for Dipper, and I climbed up in a little tree—that one—to get a better view, and something  _grabbed_ me and I hit it, and then it started to wind this sticky junk all over me, and some others came—ugh, they're horrible!"

"You're going to need a long hot bath, dude," Soos said. "Not all of this is comin' off. And I think you're gonna need a change of clothes."

From where she leaned against the trunk of the tall tree, (Wendy) said, "Spare clothes in the locker at the Shack, no problem there."

At last they freed (Pacifica), though as Soos said, her clothes were a mess of sticky residue, and her long, beautiful red hair was matted with the disgusting green goop. (Wendy) got up. "OK. Soos, you take the others back. She and I will come back in the golf cart."

"You, like, sure?"

"Yes. We need to talk."

* * *

As they climbed into the cart, (Pacifica) said, "You, uh, want me to drive, Dipper?"

"I can do it. Why'd you even come out here?"

"Uh, man, I just wanted to find you, and, uh, you know, ask you if you really, really loved me."

"Wendy! How can you ask that after all our passionate make-out sessions? After I gave you the engagement ring? After we set the wedding date for my eighteenth birthday? Nah, I can take you or leave you."

"Don't—don't joke, Dipper. It's important to me. Honestly, now, do you really love me?"

(Wendy) gave her a weary stare. "And if I said I really, really do, what then?"

"Uh—well, I—you know, Pacifica has some feelings for you, Dipper."

"Dipper knows that very well. Only I'm not him at the moment. I'm Wendy."

(Pacifica) began to blush. "Oh—the carpet—huh. Wait, is that still Mabel in my body?"

"Guess again."

"Oh—is it—I messed everything up!" She began to cry.

"Don't do that! This is bad enough, me sittin' here lookin' at myself covered in that mess. Look, Pacifica, Dipper and I do like each other. A lot. But there's the age thing, you know? So we've agreed to give it time before we get real serious—if we ever do. People change. He likes you already, not the same as he feels about me, but he likes you. He won't, though, if you keep doing stupid things like this."

"It is stupid," (Pacifica) agreed. "I'm stupid."

"No, you're not! You're just messed up with, like, teen hormones. Happens to us all. Look, take some advice from an older girl, OK? Don't try to rush it. True love doesn't happen at thirteen. You think it does, but it's just, like, the hormones takin' over your brain. Give it time. You know what I most regret about when I was twelve an' thirteen? I didn't just have fun and goof around with my friends! This is the time for that."

"I don't have any friends."

"Bull. Mabel. Dipper. Prob'ly lots of others, if you'd loosen up. Relax. You don't have to be Pacifica Perfect Northwest all the time." (Wendy) chuckled. "When you get home, I think you're gonna find that Mabel's done a little work on your family. If they ease up, promise me you'll try to do that, too."

(Pacifica) sniffled. "Well—all right. But it's hard."

"Not any harder'n lowering you to the ground, I'll bet. Dipper's palms are blistered, and his shoulders are gonna ache for like a week. Hey, girl to girl—why do you like him so much?"

"I don't  _know_ " she wailed. "He's not cute, he can't really dance, he's like the world's biggest nerd, and he talks about stuff I don't even understand! But—but—he's . . . kind. He's the kindest boy I ever met. And loyal."

"And he's got guts," (Wendy) said. "Yeah, I know. Hey, I'm halfway in love with him myself. And we may get there yet. But we're givin' it time. You willing to do that, too?"

"I—yes, I guess. Yes."

"Then we've made some progress." (Wendy) made the turn onto the Mystery Shack driveway. "All right. Now let's go in and get changed." She grinned as she stepped out of the golf cart. "And I mean that literally."

* * *

**Chapter 9**

_That afternoon . . . ._

The electron carpet gave one final blue-white lightning-bolt spark and crackle, and Dipper and Pacifica stood staring at each other.

"There!" Dipper said, patting himself with satisfaction. "Okay, we're all changed back. You good, Pacifica?"

"Uh—I guess so. I feel a little queasy, but, yeah, I'm me again."

"So everybody's back to normal? Good," Wendy said, coming out of the bathroom swathed in an oversized, thick white terrycloth robe and with an Aztec-patterned beach towel wrapped around her red hair. "At least I got my  _skin_  pretty clean."

Dipper grinned at her. "That's good, Wendy. How're you doing otherwise?"

"Feel fine," Wendy said, pulling the towel a little tighter. "'Course I'll be a lot better when I can get all this gunk out of my hair. It's horrible stuff, man. It sticks like bubble gum."

Melody told her, "Come into the parlor and let me look at it, dear." They all went in. Wendy sat in the armchair and unwrapped her hair—which was very damp and still looked like a clumpy, lumpy disaster area. Hovering over her, dabbing at her matted hair with a washcloth, Melody muttered, "All right, I think I know what will get it out. While you were showering, I was in the kitchen trying different things to loosen the spider threads on your poor shirt, and I think I've found a combination that will work. First, we'll have to brush lots and lots of creamy peanut butter through your hair-"

Wendy made a face. " _Peanut_ butter? In my hair? Ugh!"

"No, no, Melody's right," Dipper said eagerly. "Like when Mabel gets bubble gum in her hair. Peanut butter has oils that will stiffen the adhesive and make it less clingy, and the tiny fragments of peanuts are just abrasive enough to pull the residue off without damaging your hair!"

"And then after we comb the worst of it out," Melody said, "to get out the last of the peanut butter-clogged gunk, we'll need to brush lots cooking oil through your hair. That'll pick up both the loosened web and the remaining peanut butter."

"Are you gonna clean me or cook me?" Wendy asked, a little sarcastically. She sighed. "Okay, sorry for being snippy. Bring on the peanut butter and cooking oil. And then more showerin' with lots and lots of shampoo and hot water, right?"

"Right!" Soos said. "Hey, Wendy, I'm off to the store for a giant economy tub of peanut butter and a gallon of oil. What kind of shampoo do you prefer?"

Wendy mumbled something and looked embarrassed.

Soos leaned closer. "Dude, I didn't catch that."

"Crowning Miracle!" Wendy said, turning pink. "It's a girly kind of product, but it's the only thing that tames down this mane of mine. The cream rinse, too, please, same brand. The kind without perfume, OK?"

"Peanut butter, cooking oil, perfume-free Crowning Miracle shampoo and rinse, chocolate-covered raisins. Got it." When they stared at him, he shrugged. "I love chocolate-covered raisins, dudes. Deal with it, OK?"

"Soos," Dipper said, "when you get back, think of a safe place to hide the electron carpet. I don't think it should be destroyed, but keep it out of our hands, OK?"

Soos nodded, a thoughtful expression on his broad face. "You got it, dawg. I'll think of a real good place to stash it while I'm drivin' to the store. Oh! I know! The secret compartment I found under the office floor! That'll do it! Be right back, dawgs."

Dipper sighed and shook his head.

Pacifica stood off to the side, in the corner and sort of huddled. She looked miserable, unkempt, and disheveled. She said quietly, "Wendy, I'll pay for your clothes and all this stuff to get your hair clean. By the way, I use Crowning Miracle, too. It's really good about leaving your hair soft and manageable. Of course, I get the kind that smells like money. Father likes that."

Wendy gave a short laugh. "Figures. But don't worry about repaying me, Pacifica. My clothes all come from the Sprawl Mart, anyhow. Dad says I'm too rough on 'em to buy the expensive stuff."

Mabel said, "Hey, if there's any of that shampoo left over, I'll try some! Though my hair is sort of naturally beautiful, anyway."

"Yeah," Dipper told her. "It's  _you_ that's unmanageable."

"That's me! Boop!" But then Mabel grew a little more serious: "We have some unfinished business, though. Pacifica, you know you have to be punished in some way. Give me time and I'll think of something suitable." She immediately brightened up again. "Meanwhile, you're officially invited to our weekly sleepover this Friday night. Yay!"

"What?" Pacifica asked, blinking rapidly. "You—you want me? After I—?"

"Well, sure!" Mabel said. "Look, you made a mistake, but everybody makes 'em, and it helps that you're sorry for it. And, hey, I gotta keep track of how your dad is developing my ideas, and you may need some new ones to keep him sunny side up. What's wrong, why are you twitching so much?"

Pacifica looked acutely uncomfortable. "I don't  _know!_ I feel really strange. It's just that my clothes are making me feel awkward and sweaty for some reason."

"Ah—yeah, there's a reason for that. Dipper was in 'em." Mabel winked at Dipper. "We can handle this. Come with me," Mabel said, taking Pacifica by the hand. "I have loads of stuff that will fit you to a T." She led Pacifica off toward her room.

Melody left Wendy and Dipper at the dining table. Wendy was all muffled up in Melody's thick terrycloth robe and also wore her very own disgusted expression. Dipper said, "Hey, cheer up. For what it's worth—you look good even with your hair all gummed up."

Despite herself, Wendy laughed. "Thanks, man. You always know how to make a girl feel awkward."

With a chuckle, Dipper said modestly, "Well, that's me, you know."

"Sorry about your hands, dude. Rope burn."

Dipper looked down at his palms, angry red welts streaking them, white blisters dotting them. "Hurts a little, but not bad. It's OK, really. I'm just glad you were able to rescue Pacifica, even using my puny body."

Wendy gave him a playful punch on the shoulder that ordinarily wouldn't have hurt, but after the exertions of the day and the resulting aches, it made Dipper hide a wince. "Hey, dude, don't sell yourself short. You totally could've done everything I did. You just need a little muscle building and tonin' up and trainin', that's all. We'll work on it, all right?"

"Well, I'll give it a try," Dipper promised. His phone chirped, and he answered it. "Hello? Great-uncle Ford! You are? Hey, man, when you get back to Gravity Falls, call me right away! Remember those mysterious Oregon spider monkeys you made a note about? I've got a ton of new information! Yeah, even better, come over for dinner. Melody and Soos won't mind, and Abuelita loves to see you guys, so drive over, OK? Yes, I have pictures! Cool! I'll tell them to set a couple of extra plates! See you then! 'Bye!" He broke the connection. "Stan and Ford just got back from New Jersey and they've landed in Portland. They'll be coming over for dinner. Want to stay?"

"Aw, thanks, but no. My dad'll have a purple fit if I do," Wendy said. "But I appreciate the offer. As soon as I get peanut buttered and oiled and boiled in the shower, I gotta take off for home. So—movie night at my place or here on Friday?"

"Whichever, they're both good." Dipper grinned. "As long as we're together and in our own skins."

Wendy burst out laughing. "Dude!"

Dipper gave her an apologetic grin. "Sorry. I'm still trying to learn how to express these feelings, you know?"

She touched his nose fondly. "You're comin' along, Dip. You're comin' along."

* * *

_That evening after dinner . . . ._

"Remarkable images!" Stanford exclaimed, studying the photos that Dipper had run off on the printer—not the old one that made things come to life, fortunately, but a smaller one that Soos had installed in the office.

Dipper, sitting beside him, nearly glowed. "So can you reach any conclusions, or do we need a type specimen?"

"Oh, a type specimen would definitely clear up a lot of issues. For instance, as near as I can figure, these creatures must have a strange way of taking nourishment that doesn't mean drinking their prey's blood directly through their mouths." He leaned over the closest photo, one showing the creature that had fallen to the ground, and studied it with a magnifying glass. "I think you're right about the minimal venom, too. These mouth parts are far too small for the bulk of those bodies! They must have some kind of internal brain, not located in the usual part. Maybe a swelling of the ganglia just inside the thorax. But how they feed—that's a mystery."

Dipper said, "I've been pondering that. I think there's a special retractable feeding organ. Wendy knocked that specimen down, and when it was on its back and kicking, something black and shiny jetted out about two inches from right beneath where its neck, if it has a neck, joins the body. It's not in the photo, 'cause it flicked out and then right back in again. I just saw a flash of it, but it looked like a sharp black suction tube, stiff, probably made of chitin, and it reminded me of a big medical syringe."

Ford sounded intrigued and excited: "That's the likely solution, then. Once small animals or birds are trapped, and probably after they weaken and their struggles cease, the spider monkeys may use those to thrust through the cocoon, through the flesh of the victims, and feed on blood. Or perhaps they let their cocooned prey starve to death or suffocate, and then as the body decays, they drink the rotting fluids."

"Hey," Stan said from the sofa, "For Pete's sake, I'm eatin' ice cream with strawberry sauce here!"

With great dignity, Stanford said, "Stanley, to a scientist, nothing is disgusting."

Stan barked a short sarcastic laugh. "Yeah, remember when we were eight, the banana split I made for you with a Modeling-Dough banana an' you thought it was real?"

Ford grimaced and shuddered. "Exception noted.  _That_  was foul."

"I don't think these things are really monkeys, though," Dipper said. "Not even mammals. Their arms and legs are weirdly jointed and they look chitinous, except for those very monkey-like paws. I think they're probably somehow related to arachnids, but with only half the appendages."

"Maybe a different evolutionary line," Ford mused. "Or convergent evolution, since these things fill a niche that in South America monkeys occupy. So perhaps they should be called Oregon monkey spiders!"

"Oy!" grunted Stan. "Nerds! Nerds of a feather!"

But a happy Ford and Dipper ignored him as they sat late into the night and discussed the fascinating details of these newly-discovered denizens of Gravity Falls.

* * *

_Wednesday morning . . . ._

Pacifica called Mabel at about ten, interrupting her mostly futile attempts to teach Waddles how to play Dipper's tuba. "Am I calling at a bad time?"

"Nope, it's all right. Waddles can't seem to grasp the principle of embouchure. Plus, he just swallowed Dipper's last mouthpiece. Have to wait until he passes 'em to carry on the lessons."

"Oh, that's too—something, I guess. Uh—did Wendy finally get all the goop out of her hair?"

"Finally! Yeah, it took another day of oiling and shampooing. Her hair looks really fabulous now, though. Hey, by the way, I love that shampoo that you and she both use. It's replacing my old favorite."

"What was that?"

"Disharino! It's also good for greasy pots and pans and garage floors. But Crowning Miracle is much better for hair."

"Oh. Um. Good." Pacifica was silent for a couple of seconds but then added, "Hey, uh, Mabel, this sounds kind of strange, I know, but—instead of me coming over to the Mystery Shack, how would you and Grenda and Candy like to come to my house for the sleepover on Friday?"

"Huh?" Mabel asked in surprise. "You mean your folks will let you have us over?"

"Well—yeah. My father—my dad, I mean—he's really, really happy. Mr. McGucket already gave him a prototype of whatever your idea was, and it works great. They're going into production, like, next month, and he says projections are that sales will go through the roof, and so will profits. You'll have to tell me again what all that's about. I still don't understand it, but we can talk about it while we have our pajama party. If you guys can come over, I mean."

"Well, we usually chase Dipper out of the attic . . . . "

"Please," Pacifica asked in a small voice. "Let me be the hostess. I—I've never been allowed to have a sleepover before. My dad and mom will be away—they're going to Chicago for the weekend to meet some investors who want in on the new product line, but they already said it would be OK for me to have friends over. And we've got loads of room and we can do anything you guys want here. You can ride Desperado, and—and we—I don't know what you do at a sleepover, but whatever it is, we can do it!"

Mabel put on her thoughtful voice. "Let me consider this: Have our sleepover in my brobro's smelly old room, or come to your great house where there's like a ninety-six-inch TV to watch rom-com movies, and a top-of-the-line sound system for playing dance tunes on, and a croquet court, and a sauna, and a special room full of makeup and tons of clothes to try on . . . hmm. I will reluctantly say we'll come to your place! Will you send Welly to pick us up at the Shack on Friday afternoon, say around two?"

"Uh—who's 'Welly?'"

Mabel laughed. "Your butler, silly! Wellington!"

Pacifica sounded stumped: "What? It's legal to call a butler by a  _nickname_?"

"'Course it is! And if you call him 'Welly,' he'll like you and do all sorts of favors for you. Oh, be sure to send him in the limo! Grenda's kinda ho-hum about them because she rides in a stretched one every time she sees Marius, but it'll be a big thrill for Candy!"

With a happy laugh, Pacifica said, "Oh, sure, that's no problem. I'll have him there at two sharp. I'm so excited about this! Be ready on time, OK?"

"Oh, we will," Mabel said. "By the way, the next day after that, Saturday afternoon, can you come over to the Shack? I have a little project in mind. And remember, you do owe me."

"Uh, I'm sure I can come over. So I'll see you Friday afternoon—oh, by the way, am I right? You never did get to ride Desperado?"

"No," Mabel said regretfully. "I kind of got busy. I saw him, though. He's real handsome!"

"Then first thing when you guys come over Friday afternoon, I'll give you a riding lesson."

"Sounds like fun!"

"Well, like you say—I owe you."

When they hung up, Mabel gave an evil little chuckle. Rubbing her hands, she murmured, "You  _do_  owe me. And you have no idea how I'm gonna make you repay me, Pacifica. You have no idea!"

* * *

**Chapter 10**

_And finally, the following Monday evening . . ._

Mabel clicked off the overhead light in the Mystery Shack parlor and said, "Annnd roll it!" She pressed the "play" button before jumping on the sofa next to Dipper, stretching out a hand and urging, "Gimmee, gimmee, gimmee!"

Dipper held the big bowl of popcorn toward her, and she shoveled handfuls into her mouth, crunching madly. Wendy warned, "Whoa, Mabes, don't choke yourself."

"She always eats like this," Dipper said.

Spraying fragments of popcorn, Mabel said, "Shhh! It's starting!"

The TV showed color bars, then to the tune of Mabel's recorded humming, a series of title cards done in gorgeous rainbow hues with markers:

" **Mabel's Guide to Identity Theft"**

**A Video by Mabel Pines**

**Starring Mabel Pines and Guests**

**Conceived by Mabel Pines**

**Produced by Mabel Pines**

**Directed by Mabel Pines**

**Makeup by Mabel Pines**

**Hair by Crowning Miracle Hair Products, Inc.**

**Sound and video by my brother**

"Catchy tune," Dipper said. "Hey, isn't that—"

"The theme song for that cartoon show about us from the bizarro comic-book con dimension. That's my favorite part. Look, there she is! Shh!"

And they watched the video production as it unfolded before them in all its poorly-edited, jerky hand-held camera, and only occasionally-focused splendor.

* * *

**Scene 1**

_(Pacifica, in a purple top, stands in front of a wall in the Mystery Shack Museum. A dozen blown-up photos of Oregon Monkey Spiders are thumbtacked to the wall behind her. She is twitchy and looks nervous.)_

MABEL           _(Off-camera V/O):_  Welcome, videoland friends, to another guide to life by me, your hostess and guru, the very beautiful and talented Mabel Pines! Yes, I'm the gal who brought you "Mabel's Guide to Cooking Pine Cones," "Mabel's Guide to Healing Squirrel Bites," and "Mabel's Guide to What to Do When It Isn't a Possum in the Closet!" In this episode, we are going to consider a pressing problem in today's world: Identity Theft and What to Do About It. My first guest is the very beautiful and talented Pacifica Northwest!

_[PACIFICA fidgets, her eyes shifting left and right as the camera blurs and goes back into focus, blurs again and finally steadies]_

PACIFICA:      So, uh, is this like an apology thing I'm supposed to give you? Or the punishment you mentioned? Uh, what are you gonna make me do?

MABEL:          _(Chuckling)_  Nothing, Pacifica! I'm just gonna interview you! Just relax and be yourself and you'll do fine. Now, tell our vast audience: How do you feel about identity theft?

PACIFICA: _(Visibly blushing)_ Uh, really, yeah. It's, it's, yeah. I'm, uh—Mabel, I'm very, very sorry about what I did. I've just had such a bummer of a year from last August up to this summer, you know? I—I guess my head wasn't in a very good place, and yes, I did some incredibly stupid and—and hurtful things. I am  _so_  sorry. I won't ever do it again. I promise.

MABEL:          For the benefit of our viewers who may at this very moment be going "Say wha-a-a-a-a?", Pacifica Northwest and the beautiful and talented Mabel Pines actually swapped identities. Literally! But that wasn't theft, it was more just one of those friendly off-the-wall Mabel things, you know? Boop-boop! Now, Pacifica, I'm wondering: Has your home life improved since we did that?

PACIFICA:      _(Shy surprised smile)_  Uh, you know, actually it has? My father insists that I call him Dad now. And my mother has cut way back on— _(mimes drinking out of a bottle)._  Dad keeps  _thanking_ me for my ideas and keeps going on about  _focus_ groups and how they're crazy about the new product lines he's developing. So I guess, yeah, overall, things at home are better than they've been in a long time.

MABEL:          Well, isn't that special! Congratulations to you and your beautiful and talented Dad and Mom! And, Pacifica, were all those ideas for Northwest Mud Flaps, Incorporated's new products really yours?

PACIFICA:      Well, uh, yeah, I guess. In a way. Uh, sort of. I mean it was really you coming up with them, but you were in my body at the time, so as far as my folks know—

MABEL:          So some good  _can_  come from honest identity exchange, sometimes! But are those times of  _honest_  exchange rare? What about other occasions when the identity exchange isn't for fun but is a matter of—DAH-DUM! —identity theft? We'll see in the next segment.  _(Long pause as Pacifica nervously shifts from foot to foot, hugging her arms and looking unhappy)_  Cut, Dipper!

DIPPER          _(Off-camera V/O):_  You said you'd tell me!

MABEL:          I just did!

_(Rapid fade to black)_

**Scene 2**

_(Fade in on Wendy Corduroy, standing outdoors with Gravity Falls Falls falling in the far background. She wears one of her trademark flannel shirts, this one a red-and-black plaid, but she's taken off the lumberjack hat. The breeze makes her long red hair, looking unusually touchable and gleaming in the sunlight, wave a little)_

MABEL           _(V/O, over the distant roar of the falls):_  Now, our second guest is the beautiful and talented Wendy Corduroy, perhaps the coolest girl on the planet.

DIPPER          _(Off-mike, V/O):_ Oh, yeah!

WENDY:         _(Laughing)_ Shut UP, man!

MABEL:          Now, Wendy, you were also a victim of identity theft, correct?

WENDY:         Oh, yeah. Big time. Got handcuffed and everything! Tossed in a closet! Had to put peanut butter in my hair!

MABEL:          Tell us about it.

WENDY:         _(Rolling her eyes)_  Well, it started 'cuz Pacifica has like a crucial crush on your brother, and HE has a crush on me—

DIPPER          _(Off-mike, V/O):_  Tut-tut-tut-tut-tut!

WENDY:         I didn't say I don't like it, Dip! I'm super flattered, and I'll tell the world Dipper Pines is like my best buddy ever. But anyways, where was I? OK, Dip and I are like tight best friends, you know? So we're not  _exactly_  goin' together, but talk about BFFs, that's us right now—well, so Pacifica thought she'd see if she could shake up my friendship with Dipper so maybe she could have a shot at him, I guess?

MABEL:          That is a concise and clear analysis, Wendy Corduroy! But you short-circuited her attempt to put a boulder on the railroad track of your rowboat to love!

DIPPER:         _(Off-mike, V/O)_  Not one word of that makes any sense!

MABEL:          Shush, camera operator. Wendy, explain what you did.

WENDY:         Well, Pacifica tricked me and put my mind in your body, which is what her mind was in at the time, and she put her mind in my body and went lookin' for Dipper, but before she found him, Dipper allowed me to put my mind into his body, while he took over Pacifica's body—

DIPPER:         _(Hurriedly, off-mike V/O)_  Oops, low battery.

_(Immediate crash-fade to black)_

**Scene 2.5**

_(Picture returns, shot from a strangely unsteady low angle maybe eighteen inches off the ground)_

MABEL:          Welcome back, faithful viewers! Because of a sudden illness, our camera operator has been replaced by the beautiful and talented Waddles Pines!

DIPPER          _(Off-mike, V/O):_ Hey! Why didn't I get a "beautiful and talented"?

MABEL:          Shush! You're sick! Now, Wendy, continue your fascinating story.

WENDY:         _(The low camera angle cuts off her head_ ) Well, as Dipper, I met with Pacifica as me, and although I was pretty mad at first it turned out she really needed to talk some things over, and eventually I calmed down and we hashed it all out and came to an understanding. She knows I'm not gonna marry Dipper in the next couple years anyway, and in the meantime she's not gonna try to bust up our friendship. We're cool now.

MABEL:          And whose idea was your taking over Dipper's body?

WENDY:         Yours. And, well, Dipper's.

MABEL:          Cut, Waddles!

_(The picture suddenly becomes a careening panorama of the landscape, seen from near ground level, ending when Waddles finds half a Billy Bonky Choco Wocko candy bar some kid dropped in the parking lot of the scenic overlook. Fade to black under happy, gobbling, grunty noises)_

**Scene 3**

_(Picture abruptly returns. Now Pacifica is standing where Wendy stood, with the waterfall in the far background. Mabel is on camera beside her, holding a microphone.)_

MABEL:          Annnd we're back for the wrap-up. Dipper Pines has—

DIPPER:         _(Off-mike, V/O):_  Ahem!

MABEL:          _(Rolling her eyes)_  The beautiful and talented Dipper Pines—

DIPPER:         ( _Off-mike, V/O)_   _Thank_  you.

PACIFICA:       _(Rolling her eyes, too_ ) Oh, puh-lease!

MABEL:          —has made a miraculous recovery, and we welcome him back to our production staff. Now that we've heard Wendy's story, Pacifica, how do you feel about the whole adventure?

PACIFICA:      _(Smiling)_  Well, I'm glad those spidery things didn't, like  _devour_ me. And that Wendy's OK, and nobody got hurt.

DIPPER:           _(Off-mike, V/O)_ Blisters!

MABEL:          Nobody got  _badly_  hurt. Go on, Pacifica.

PACIFICA:      Well, lastly, I'm really happy that nobody seems very mad at me. I'm relieved, I guess. I did something really dumb and mean, and . . . and I don't want to be the kind of person who does things like that anymore.  _(More softly, her eyes glistening a little)_  Really, I—I don't. I-I'd like to thank my—my friends for forgiving me and giving me another chance.

MABEL:          That's big of you, Pacifica. You are incredibly welcome! Oh, and incidentally, you know, when Dipper's mind was in your body—

PACIFICA:      _(Smiling, anticipating)_  Yes?

MABEL:          He took a long bubble bath and then stared at himself in your body as he posed in front of a mirror and took selfies for about an hour. _And he was in the nude! Stark naked_!

_(Crash zoom on Pacifica's face as her expression goes from surprised to shocked to utterly horrified)_

MABEL:          _(V/O)_ Dun-dun-DUNNNN!

_(Superimposed over a still of Pacifica, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open: THE END!)_

_(End credits roll)_

* * *

Wendy and Dipper doubled over with laughter as the video ended, Dipper actually tumbling off the sofa in the Mystery Shack parlor, scattering popcorn everywhere, while Wendy clutched a cushion to her stomach and wiped tears from her eyes.

Mabel, donning a beret and dark sunglasses, jumped up, clicked the light back on, held out her arms, took a deep bow, and said, "Another award-winning production from Mabelwood Studios!"

When she could finally get her breath, Wendy gasped, "You—you  _did_ tell her that was all a great big fib at the end, right? About Dipper taking a bubble bath and posing in front of a mirror and all?"

"Well, yeah, I did. Eventually," said Mabel, with a wicked grin.

Wendy helped Dipper get up from the floor and hugged him. "Hey, Dip, man, I'm so proud of you for resisting the temptation to actually do something like that.  _My_ brothers would've dropped those clothes so fast! And I don't even like to think of what  _Robbie_  would have done!"

"Ohhh, I was a little tempted," Dipper told Wendy as he sat beside her on the couch again. "But thinking it over, it seemed like such a mean thing to do to a girl. It was sort of like something Pacifica might possibly have done at the beginning of last summer if she'd had the chance, maybe, but you know, not great-uncle Ford or even Stan. Or Mabel. Or especially you, Wendy."

She shrugged, a Mona Lisa smile curving her lips. "Hmm. I dunno, Dip. I might've done something  _like_  that, something to humiliate her. I really was pretty mad at her there for a while. But talkin' with her and realizing how lonely she's been—you know, before we had that chat, I never really stopped to think of what it might feel like to be an only child. I've always had brothers around, and half the time I love 'em to death and the other half the time they're like drivin' me crazy. But, man, being an only kid, it must get to you sometimes. Dipper, you do know that Lee's little brother didn't live, don't you?"

"Huh?" Dipper thought of the long-haired, goofy, fun-loving blond teenaged boy who was part of Wendy's gang of friends. In a shaky voice, he said, "No, I didn't know that."

"Yeah, it's sad," Wendy said softly. "Happened years ago. When Lee was about three or four, his mom was pregnant, and it was a boy. Lee was so excited because he was gonna be a big brother. Even picked out all his old toys he was gonna give his little brother when he arrived, thought up stuff he could teach him to do. But then somethin' went really wrong and his mom lost the baby just over halfway through. And it turned out she couldn't ever have another one."

"Aww," Mabel said softly.

Wendy nudged Dipper. "You know, Dip, Lee never talks about it and I know he wouldn't tell you this, but he likes goofin' around with you 'cause you're like the little brother he always wanted. And he's actually a better guy when you're around, doesn't get into half the trouble he does when it's just Nate. Yeah, I think kids with no brothers or sisters have it a lot rougher than the rest of us ever know."

Mabel reached out and took Dipper's hand. "I'm glad we have each other," she said quietly.

"Me, too," Dipper replied, squeezing.

"Aw, you guys are gonna make me cry in a minute," Wendy said. "OK, Mabel, fantastic video, and definitely award-worthy, buuuuuut . . .I'd keep it on the private shelf. I mean, I especially wouldn't show it to people around here, y'know? 'Cuz you don't want to  _really_  hurt Pacifica's feelings, right?"

"Well, yeah, right," Mabel said. "So I won't release this to the general public. But it was a way to give her a  _little_ grief for what she did."

"No harm, no foul," Wendy told her. "'Sides, now she knows Dipper didn't see her naked."

"Yup."

Wendy's smile broadened, and she giggled a little. "Unlike me seein' Dipper naked, 'cuz I totally did."

"Oh, stop it," Dipper said. "You were just changing clothes, that's all."

"You seem pretty unusually cool about that, brobro," Mabel said.

"Well, it  _is_  a little bit embarrassing," Dipper confessed. He added hopefully, "But Wendy isn't gonna tease me or make me feel bad about it—uh, are you?"

"No, never," Wendy said solemnly. Then in a flirty tone, she added, "'Cuz, dude, I totally  _liked_  what I saw." She waggled her eyebrows.

Dipper laughed and shrugged. "Hey, I'm beautiful and talented, what can I say? Well-p, this has been fun, but now I gotta go finish filling out the details about the Oregon monkey spiders in my Journal. See you guys tomorrow."

He was in the doorway when Wendy called admiringly, "Hey, Dipper! You took that real well, man. You're actually getting to be one cool dude."

He grinned, turned to her, formed pistols with his thumbs and forefingers, and clicked his tongue as he pointed at her.

He went upstairs, not hurrying. Closed the attic bedroom door. Kicked off his shoes. Lay on his bed. Sighed deeply. Covered his face with his pillow. Pushed it tight

And with muffled voice, he yelled "AUGGGGH! NOOO! NOOOO! SHE SAW ME NAKED! AUGGGHHH NOOOO!" for at least ten solid minutes.

* * *

The End


End file.
